Lockdown: Sleep relief

Late Saturday night, writing about, um, Thursday? Yeah, Thursday.

I got something like six and a half hours of good sleep Wednesday night, and my body and brain felt it. I really really really really really really really need to remember this. My relationship with sleep is so troubled and tenuous that I often (very often!) kind of just give up on it. I mean, it’s always on my mind because how could anything causing me so much stress and trouble my whole life not be ever on the brain?

Still, going to bed at a decent hour often means getting the same amount of decent sleep as going to bed at an ungodly hour, and if this is the case, why worry about when I go to bed? I mean, that’s the silly, stupid, unhealthy reasoning. It’s wrong. And it’s bad.

The roast beef and turkey sandwich I had for breakfast-slash-lunch was so good and so satisfying I did it again Thursday, except I ordered the house special: the Machete. It’s a ridiculously large sandwich with a lot of meat and other stuff, and it’s delicious. I need something sorta in between the “meaner” sandwiches and the “meanest” sandwich.

In the morning, I worked on the student profiles I’m behind on. In the afternoon, I worked on this article about a large donation to the college of engineering. It wasn’t coming along well and the deadline snuck up on me, but I got it in.

The other Jennifer texted me to say her hair’s falling out again. Ugh. I try not to think about her illness because it makes me so sad, but I don’t think not thinking about it is being the friend I want to be. So I said, “Well that sucks.” And she said, “Guess I gotta dig the Barbie wig out.” And I said, “You should get a Mia Wallace wig.”

Pulp Fiction and Quentin Tarantino generally are two topics we have the longest history with, going back to the year everyone in our newsroom saw Pulp Fiction in theaters. We all saw it over the summer and when the new school year began we were all in agreement it was one of the greatest things ever.

Except I actually texted “You should get a Mia Wallace wig” to a female coworker. Oops.

The coworker was confused. Duh. I re-sent the text to Jennifer and followed it with, “(I accidentally texted that to a coworker. She was very confused.)”

I got the cry-laughing emoji back. Very rewarding.

The day she went in for her double mastectomy, several years ago, I texted her in the early morning: I would be thinking of her all day, and all day I would only be listening to the music of the Hooters.

It comes from the same place, only I don’t think she was as amused that time.

I texted Desi to ask if her parents have been vaccinated yet. It led to some talk about some of our favorite books growing up. She’s always down for book talk. It’s a trait I don’t appreciate as much as I should.

I asked the writing partner the same thing.

Cathy and I texted a little about where we want to travel when we’re allowed to. She wants to see Mrs. Wong in Tennessee, of course. I was thinking of heading the other way: somewhere in the Pacific with white sand, clear water, and strong wifi, with dingy bars whose floors are covered with tracked-in sand in the afternoons.

Stacia texted me a Buzzfeed article with some funny signs. Yeah, I’m still the funny sign guy even though since I haven’t been anywhere for a year, I haven’t seen any signs to share. I didn’t think I’d find them very funny, since I was sure I’d seen them before, but no. These were new, and most of them were the kinds of signs, outside establishments, requiring someone to place letters advertising the weekly specials (for example), and they did make me laugh. Mostly because many of the signs were either intentionally silly (“Nobody ever reads this side lol”) or mischievously vandalized by people switching letters around (“Get your shongles shit today”).

I can’t decide which I like better. I wish I were responsible for a sign like this so I could stretch my creativity and exercise my wit, such as it exists. I also wish I were brave enough to vandalize other people’s signs.

Crush Girl and I texted a lot Thursday. Good stuff, too. Silly stuff, and not-so-silly.

I think for dinner I had shredded pork tacos, then a couple of late quesadillas. Because around 11:30 in the evening I was full of mossy brain energy and thought it was a good time to get some work done.

I can’t lie: it was great. All the synapses were firing in sync, and I did some good work. I submitted two proposals to development officers and prepped the engineering article for posting even though it hadn’t yet been approved. I think I finally shut the laptop at like 2:30.

It was a good three hours, I tell you. It doesn’t feel like work when it feels that good. I can feel the self-expression even in something that has nothing to do with me. The expression is in the quality of work. I feel like my signature was all over this stuff even without my actual name.

Teaching used to be this way. Pretty much every period of every day. It’s why I did it for so long even though it was slowly killing me, physically.

“It’s sad and it’s sweet, and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man’s clothes.”

So despite everything I wrote at the top of this page, I went to bed far too late. I’m an idiotic doofus.

Hit the comments if you need some connection with an idiotic doofus in the pandemic insanity. I’m here if you need someone. Srsly.

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