No More Scrooge for Me

There is so much to enjoy with holidays: time spent with family, gorging oneself on massive amounts of deliciously yummy food, decorations. During the Christmas holidays, I tend to find myself a bit of a Scrooge. I used to love Christmas. It was a love affair that typically had me listening to holiday music way too early and insisting on putting up the decorations the day immediately following Thanksgiving. Then somewhere in the past few years, there was a disconnect. My sister told me it was because I became bitter and cynical. As much as I'd fight that point, I secretly knew she was right.

Since my nephew and niece were born, I knew I had to start adjusting my attitude towards the season of holiday cheer. One cannot be the fun aunt if one hates Christmas. Thus began my conscious effort towards removing the blues and replacing them with silver bells in my heart. Naturally, I did this by following the code of the Elves:

• Treat everyday like Christmas
• There's room for everybody on the nice list
• The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear

Buddy the Elf would be proud. I've spent the last week singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs. My officemate and I started the cheer a bit early this year by indulging our Christmas spirits in the sounds of the holidays before Thanksgiving. Speaking of which, has anyone else notice how Thanksgiving gets streamrolled more than any other holiday? I mean, seriously. Christmas decorations are making an appearance before the cornucopia even has its chance to make it to the table. The turkey is being cooked to the tunes of Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney. It simply isn't fair. Every holiday should have its own chance to shine. Thanksgiving is just underappreciated. We should all be glad that it hasn't disappeared into the woodwork yet, never to make an appearance again. That would just be tragic. That particular holiday has better food than any other. I do love turkey comas.

So, here I sit, writing to the light of the bulbs on my Christmas tree, with Dean Martin crooning the tunes of Christmas cheer while still full from Thanksgiving day leftovers. It is delightful. My Scrooge heart has yet to make an unwelcome arrival this year and I plan on keeping it that way. Or else it shall be beaten away with a stick. A big, ugly stick. And who likes ugly at such a pretty time of year?

Speranza Designs open for business!

I officially opened my very own Etsy shop, featuring jewelry designed by yours truly! I decided to call my jewelry line Speranza Designs (meaning "hope" in Italian). A portion of each sale will be sent to a charitable organization to bring hope to communities in need. There are not many items posted right now, but I will be adding items often. You can check out my shop here:

http://SperanzaDesigns.etsy.com

These will make excellent Christmas gifts! Please check it out and let me know if you have any questions. I do take custom orders.

Decisions of Doom/or Automobile of Death

One of my mother's favorite sayings is "Make the best decision that you can at the time." The key part of that phrase is "at the time." Considering the way that this saying is phrased, it points to the likely conclusion that it is being stated while looking at hindsight. Which means that the best decision that you made at the time most likely turned around and bit you in the behind.

Sadly, I find this statement to be very true in relation to the vehicle that I stupidly purchased 3 years ago. The rear tire nearly came off while I was driving it approximately 10 days after I signed my life away in car payments. This really should have been a very big, glaring sign from God that I should force them to buy the car back. Basically, God was up in heaven booming into His megaphone saying, "BETHANY. SEND BACK THE CAR." Did I listen? No. Granted, I was in a bit of a bind when I bought the automobile of death because my former car had up and died and I was essentially stranded. A decision needed to be made very quickly, and so I made the best decision that I could at the time. What a mistake that was.

About 4 weeks after selling my soul to Satan, an O2 sensor went. Thankfully, I was intelligent enough to purchase an extended warranty on the Deathbox. Otherwise, I would have had a $500 bill before my second car payment was even due. This was not looking so good. A near catastrophe and a sensor blowing within a month? My warning bells were going off. Unfortunately, it was too late. Way, way, way too late.

Over the next 2 years, the silver car of dreadfulness was in and out of the shop on multiple occasions. I think it may, may have passed inspection once without needing any major work. Maybe.

Last November brought along inspection time. I hate inspection time. I relate it to going to the dentist. There is just that dread and feeling of doom. One can never tell what trials and tribulations that inspection time might bring. The fact that I was smart enough to not wait until the last minute like I normally do should have been a neon sign in the sky that I was going to have some serious issues. I can't even remember everything that was wrong with it, but I do know that major things, like the mass airflow sensor and the catalytic converter needed to be replaced. The aforementioned extended warranty did cover much of the damage, but I still paid out quite a pocketful of cash. I was also minus a vehicle for a vast portion of the month. I had an entire week of vacation during that month. Most of which was spend in my living room because I had no car. It was a great vacation. Best ever. *Ahem* I nearly lost my sanity that month. I seriously considered setting my car on fire or hiring a hitman to "take care" of it.

So, here we are again. November. I've been shuddering at the thought of it since September. "What ailments will this inspection time bring this year?" I've been pondering to myself. I also tried to ignore it in hopes that it would just go away. It didn't work. I dropped my car off at the garage last night, and waited in awful anticipation for my phone to ring all morning. When I saw the Midas number on my caller ID... My heart nearly stopped. "Oh no!" I thought to myself. "What messages of doom will Midas manager Kevin have for me today?!" Gingerly, I answered the phone and tried to make jokes, hoping that it would put him in a good mood and he'd forget all the bad news that he had called to give me. This didn't work either. Midas manager Kevin rattled of a very long list of everything that they had found wrong with my car. "Ugh." I thought. "Maybe I can pay off Kevin to take a blowtorch to it." However, the idea of going to jail for insurance fraud sounded a bit more awful than a big bill. I decided against it.

A thousand dollars. One thousand dollars. And that's just to fix the requirements for inspection. Not including everything else that needs to be fixed, but just not right now. I will now spend the weekend waiting to find out how much my warranty will cover, and also banging my head against the corner of my kitchen table, asking myself why on earth I had to buy that particular car. One of the worst decisions I ever made, right up next to my high school boyfriend. I have no idea what I was thinking then either. But, alas and alack, we can only make the best decision that we can at the time, regardless of how bad it may be later on. I suppose that its all a part of learning life lessons and whatnot. And I also suppose that one of my father's favorite sayings is also true... "Have car, will spend money." I hate that saying.

Intertwining Tendrils of the Heart

Matters of the heart are strange things. Particularly a woman's heart. Us dames have a particular affinity to feel on a much deeper level than our male counterparts. Our emotions can control our lives if not kept in check and can completely overtake every thought in a day if left to run rampant. They are the monsoon on the unstable tiny private islands that is a woman's life whom, if left without a life raft, is likely to drown in their overwhelming force. Regardless of whether we like it or not, women are emotional creatures. Personally... I dislike this tremendously at times.

While my hard exterior shell is often deceiving, I am an exceptionally emotional woman. I was recently equated to an M&M; hard on the outside, all soft and gooshy on the inside. This fact is little known to the average person, and can only be seen once one is allowed up close. Life circumstances have forced me to become "tough", or at least it felt forced to me. My independent nature largely prevents me from being able to accept much help or emotional support from friends and family. I do believe that it drives them all insane, and I am trying to get better at that.

With my tough exterior come some misconceptions. My M&M shell leads people to believe that I am incredibly strong and secure. Ha. Several years ago, I was talking with my sister about an episode taking place in my life and she said to me, "I don't understand why you are having such a hard time with this. You're so tough." My very first thought was, "My God.... I even have my own sister fooled."

My sister Faith is my best friend. I tell her nearly everything and she knows more about me than any other person on earth. The fact that at one point I had her fooled about how "tough" I was probably means I should get an Oscar for Bullcrapper of the Year. She has wised up since then and I think can see through my charades more often than not. As a result, I think my shell has started to melt a bit, allowing the squishy insides to start oozing out a bit.

A rather copious downside to my squishy, emotional interior is this: I have an astonishingly hard time letting go. When it comes to those matters of the heart that are so very near and dear to me, I simply cannot easily loosen my often vise-like grip. I want to keep those things close because it just pains me to such an extreme to let them go. I hold on to hope well beyond the point that I should because of the "just in case." One who is not quite so emotional would likely be able to release those things easier. For myself, it is akin to prying an orange out of a monkey's grip. Good luck.

The phrase "Let go and let God", as cliche as that may be, is an obvious valid point. Simply letting go of that grip that I keep on the matters of my heart would remove my clumsy attempt at controlling a situation and allow the Master of my heart to take over. He wants and knows what is best for me and I should be trusting Him with those things most important to me. This is all great in theory, but putting it into practice is a completely different affair altogether. Actually let go of that which matters most to me? Its horrifying. And yet, we are commanded to do so. I... am commanded to do so.

But how does one do that? In reality, how does one release something that is so intertwined in one's heart? It pains me to simply think about it. Yet, I know that my God will take so much better care of the matters of my heart than I ever can. He knows my past, my present, and most importantly, my future. He knows. Who better to trust with my most valued treasures than Someone whose existence revolves around me?

These realizations leave me with no choice, and surely no better choice, than to continue learning how to release. Figuring out how to put my emotions aside and let the King of Glory step into my heart and clean up the mess that I have created. It will be painful, no doubt. But the end result will be more than worth it.

Twenty-seven Foot Bubble

As do most people, I require a certain amount of personal space. I am a self-professed vast personal space needer. I can't be crowded or pushed or smothered. Those will only make me want to freak out and hurt people. I find myself having near physical reactions to emotional deluging that include flailing and spastic flinging. It's not good.

"They" say that politicians typically require 27 feet of personal space. I've oft said I should go into politics. I most definitely fall into this personal space realm. 27 feet. Yes, I can handle that. Now, please don't misunderstand. This requirement does not go for all people. If I like a person and consider them a friend, they are permitted into my personal space. Usually. However, there are those whom I would much prefer to keep their distance. Maybe even extend it out to 50 feet. Heck, just pick up the phone and call me! From another state! That will solve all the spacial issues.

Not only do I sometimes need physical personal space, but perhaps moreso, emotional space. As has been previously stated, I do not always do so well with intrusions into my life. 'Tis not always a favorable trait, however, until I learn how to not be so me, it is what it is.

Lately, I have found certain situations in my life taking no heed to the 27 feet of personal space that is mine. Areas of my life have been invaded by persons that I would much rather not be there. I have been finding my privacy being swamped and become nonexistent in particular areas. Unfortunately, these issues are such as that I cannot control nor change. I have so far been able to refrain from any spastic flailing or undocked freaking out, which may involve pencils and other people's eyeballs. I cannot guarantee how much longer I shall be able to subdue said freaking outedness. You may soon read about me in the news.

In circumstances such as this, when one cannot control or avoid an unpleasant state of affairs, one certainly finds oneself asking the question of "what is the lesson to be learned?" There is always some hidden nugget of truth to be found behind every hardship, with which one can come away armed with a new knowledge of oneself. These assignments are hardly ever fun and often result in the loss of hair. I fear I may be completely bald before this one is over. I am making every effort to keep an eye out for all the wonderful lessons I am supposed to be learning, however. That way my bald head will not be in vain.

In the meantime, I will continue to have venting sessions with my office mate, who regularly coaches me in Lamaze and removes sharp objects from my reach. Apparently, she likes me too much to see me go to jail.

And yes, in case you were wondering, she is allowed within 27 feet of me.

Here Comes the... Social Awkwardness?

Ah, weddings. The day of joy and celebration where a man and woman unite themselves in the sight of God and man. There is feasting and dancing and festivities. I used to love weddings. "Used to" being the operative phrase. I do believe that a few years of intense wedding going, and many of those including myself the bridal party, has stained my former love. And by stained I mean essentially destroyed.

I no longer look forward to weddings with the same eagerness I used to. Now, I ignore their comings in hopes that they'll just go away. This has yet to work. The wedding day typically comes with moaning and complaining on my part. I begrudgingly pin up my hair, put on a dress and heels, and get myself to the church. With the moaning and complaining. Did I mention that part already? Ugh.

I can't really say what it is that I dislike about weddings. I think that between them being so long and exhausting and socially uncomfortable, its just sucks all the fun out of it. I particularly dread the reuniting with people I have not seen in years, who, for some reason unbeknownst to me, think that we are still such good friends. It is horribly awkward. Particularly since I don't have a life. The "So, what are you up to these days?" question is returned with an... "Um... Well... Work. And.... Work." I have nothing new to report since I last saw you 5 years ago. My life still revolves around that place that I'm forced to go to every work day. And that's really it. Not to mention, my closed off nature makes it very difficult for me to talk about anything even remotely personal with someone that I don't really know. And this scenario is therefore horribly oafish.

I am now seriously considering just heading to Vegas if I ever strap on the ball and chain. Considering my dislike of weddings, it may not be very considerate of me to put other people in the same position that I found myself today. Or, maybe I'll just get over it by then and decide that I'd like to be a princess, just for one day. Guess I'll find out if that day ever comes...

Chocolate and Ibuprophen

Many people ponder how they will meet their final end. Car accident, natural causes, accidental puncture through the eyeball with a spork. There are pleasant ways to croak as well: death by chocolate, for example. That sounds like a fantastic way to go. I can just see the obituary: "Bethany Streng, 26 years old, expired from excessive brownie and ice cream eating." I think it would read very well. However, I am relatively certain as to how I will come to meet my maker: gastro-intestinal failure from exorbitant ibuprophen consumption.

I've been a chronic headache sufferer for my whole life. Sadly, some of my earliest memories are of feeling like a sledgehammer was being taken to my skull. Lovely, huh? Forget the butterflies and roses of childhood memories. Pain and agony instead. No wonder I'm so screwed up!

My ibuprophen intake has increased significantly the past few weeks due to the sinus issues and my toofies. Headache pain I can normally deal with relatively well. Tooth pain, however, is on an entirely different level. Its sharp. And shooting. And feels like someone is shoving wire through my teeth. Unfortunately, the antibiotics course I am on is apparently not fixing the issue. Figures, right? Heck, I'll just destroy my system with drugs and they won't even help! Awesome!

My impending GI failure due to drug consummation does leave me with several excellent thoughts though. Since my innards will be giving out on me anyway, I may as well go on a strictly chocolate and ice cream diet, right? Maybe it'll even help the process along! I feel that life is way too short to not eat good food as it is, so this is just another excuse.

And I'll take any excuse I can get to eat chocolate, guilt-free!

Beads, Wires and Pliers, What Fun!

I seem to be one who is prone to pick up hobbies. I merit this to boredom. It doesn't take much for me to start twiddling my thumbs and walk around aimlessly. Movies and reading work to an extent to stave off the dull nature of life, but movies often lose my attention and I have to be able to focus to read. On occasion, I'll bake cookies or biscotti, but that isn't the best for my waistline and therefore I try not to indulge myself in that too frequently. Recently, I find myself either learning more Spanish vocabulary or blogging, but that can only take up so much time before I'm back to wearing down my carpets. Ergo, it was time to find something else to occupy my time with.

For those who know me, its very obvious that I have an addiction to accessories. Shoes, hair clips, purses. But the worst of my vices in the accessories department is by far jewelry. I'm drawn to it like white cat fur to black shirts. Its bad. I walk into a store and if there is a jewelry counter hidden behind racks of clothing, I'll hone in on it immediately. I have often related that I really should start making my own jewelry, because, let's face it, I do have good taste. I'm also very modest about that. Ahem.

I happened upon a jewelry starter kit at the craft store last week and decided that it was time. No, I was not in the craft store on purpose, in case you were wondering. I had spent the evening consuming oh-so-yummy beverages at Barnes and Noble and my lovely sister needed to go find more crafty goodness for her barrette making adventures. So off we went to Michael's.

For those who know me, you will also know that I am not a crafty sort of person. At all. I respect people who have the patience and creativity to make.... things... but I've never equated myself with being crafty. However, I do feel that jewelry making is on a bit of a different plane with me, since I am such an accessories fiend.

Since the purchase of said starter kit, I've been addicted. Its incredibly soothing, making jewelry is. I get out all my aggression by assembling beads on wires and head pins. I've spent hours over the last few days assembling earrings and even had occasion to gift a pair. Oh, tis such fun. I went back to Michael's today and made tons of fun of myself for bead shopping. Bead shopping! Ms. Non-Crafty herself is beading shopping. Ridiculous! I'm also learning the differences between different gauges of wires. I had no clue that wire came in different gauges. 28 gauge is not so great, in case you wanted to know. Its too thin and doesn't hold its shape. However, I hear of this thing called "memory wire" that is supposed to be wonderful. I'm excited about it. Excited about wire. What has happened to me??

Depending on how much energy I have, my creations may be coming to an Etsy store near you...

The "D" Word

As stated in a previous blog, I have been suffering from not-so-very-nice toothaches as of late. I had attributed this aching to allergies issues. God bless sinus drainage, right? I had been crossing my fingers and waiting for the pain to subside after my allergies lessened. And waited. And waited. And waited. And... well, you get the point. The achiness of doom had yet to diminish after nearly a month and a half. I realized that.... it was time. Gulp.

The "D" word. Oh, how I hate it. I'd basically rather scrub a public toilet with a toothbrush than have to visit the dentist. I quite literally shiver when that dreaded noun is uttered. I loathe everything about it: the picks, the scraping, the drilling, the novocaine, the fluoride treatments. But especially the picks and the drilling. They make dreadful sounds. Ugh. One might as well scrape a fork across a chalkboard. Its that bad.

After last night left me clutching the right side of my face for an hour, I knew that the time had come to call the dreaded D word. While I was relatively certain that the pain was due to my sinuses, there was also a possibility that the massive filling in my one tooth had an absess and was pussing into my bloodstream or something. That would have been bad on many levels. Not to mention really disgusting. I hope none of you reading this were eating. If you were, you're welcome. I just assisted your latest dieting fad.

Early this morning, I phoned the office, explained the situation, and was able to schedule an appointment for this afternoon. This was almost an annoyance for two reasons: first, I had to take a few hours out of my work day, and second, I didn't have enough time to mentally prepare myself for the impending terror.

2 PM rolled around, as it does every afternoon, and I put my big girl panties on and stepped into the office. Shoving down the near panic and dismay I felt, I wondered if it may have been better to continue on with the pain and purchase a few bullets to bite rather than go through the agony of the dentist chair. Ugh.

I managed to not die, or even have a coronary, during the whole appointment. Lots of poking, prodding, tapping, and blowing of air showed no particular pain points. X-rays revealed that there was nothing absessing or pussing or exposed. So, all of my dreading and panic is apparently due to what I thought it was in the first place: obnoxious sinuses. Now I start course #11 of antibiotics in the last year. Maybe that will help the sinus headaches and clogged ears as well. As much as I am not a fan of the cold, I am looking forward to allergy season being over!

Lessons in Nailbiting. And Stress. And Panic.

I am on my couch, stress eating while wrapped in a blanket to stay warm. And watching election coverage. I failed to mention that part of my stress eating involved my fingernails. Disgusting, I know, but I'm a compulsive nail biter. I've managed to break this nasty habit on several occasions, but it tends to get worse with stress and considering my mental state at work as of late.... I think it goes without saying that my nails are no longer growing.

My stress level has skyrocketed today with the impending election results. Each presidential election for the past 12 years has found me terrifically alarmed while watching the results roll in. Being that I am one of the few, but more intelligent Americans, that does not pay out way too much money for cable TV, my eyeballs are now glued to my computer monitor instead. God bless modern day technology. Seriously! While it often drives me insane, I can watch live election coverage online. For free. So to all you suckers that pay for cable, be jealous!

I have to say that I find myself increasingly irritated with the media. To say that it is biased would be the understatement of at least the last 3 years. Pathetic, ridiculous and obscene are words that come to mind in trying to describe the blatant leanings of the media. I have been watching the news for the better part of the last 6 hours and McCain's name has hardly been mentioned. Granted, I am a conservative voter, but I believe that I would be equally beleaguered if the media focused almost solely on the republican candidate. Equality. Imagine! Such a concept.

I want unbiased, factual reporting, not an agenda being pushed on me through what is being reported and the way in which it is presented. I spent a few months several years ago looking at different news sources, ones known for being liberal and ones known for being more conservative, to see the differences in the reporting. It was amazing, really. If you've never done it, I recommend it. You'll be amazed at the incredulity behind the media's bias, whether liberal or conservative.

Not to mention, the media's bigotry turns a blind eye to the facts such as, oh, I don't know, that Obama is a complete socialist. I mean, hello?!?! Has no one paid attention to his taxation plans??? And yet, no where have I read that this is a point of concern. In fact, I've hardly heard it mentioned at all, except to be skewed that Obama is "for the middle class". Bull. Crap. He is not for the middle class, he is simply a straight up socialist who wants to redistribute wealth among the nation's citizens. For anyone who pays any attention to history, this should be cause for some very serious concern. But, considering that the majority is ignorant when it comes to politics and the media refuses to report the truth... I don't even know what else to say about it.

I am dumbfounded by the lack of interest in politics among the general public. We have the incredible right to vote, for which many, many lives have been lost in that defense. And yet, many do not take the time to research into the issues and stances of the candidates. Being a psychotic politically and socially minded person, I simply do not understand this. Choosing our nation's leaders is a hefty responsibility and as a voter, we should all be informed as to what their beliefs are. If not in depth, then at least the surface stances on the major issues. So. Frustrating.

My fingernails are taking a serious beating tonight. As are anyone's eyeballs who are brave enough to try to chat with me. And my sister's eardrums. She told me to stop yelling at her. I tried to explain that I wasn't yelling at her. I was yelling about the lack of interest of people in the issues. In people who are either don't care enough or don't want to make the effort to discover the truth behind what is transpiring in the world. The apathy incites a fury in me, not just in politics, but in other things as well. Social injustice, in particular. That gets me really heated. I've had encounters with people who don't even want to discuss social issues because "its upsetting." Yeah, well, no crap. That is precisely why you should know about it! Deep breath. If you can't tell, I get very, very worked up about politics and social issues. People who are not like that tend to avoid these sort of conversations with me. Ya know, the ones that involve my soapbox. I think it makes them uncomfortable.

Well, according to the results so far, Obama will be taking the White House in January. McCain's campaign just announced that they do not see a path to victory for this election. I will be selling my internal organs tomorrow to put a down payment on my island. I've had several takers so far in joining me in that. So, if you'd like to pitch in as well, please let me know. We'll start a communal society. Maybe learn how to farm. Or fish. Or maybe just eat coconuts and bananas for the rest of our lives. Kumbaya will be required singing around the campfire every night, as well as the recitation of the baby Jesus prayers from Talledega Nights.

"Dear little 8 pound, 6 ounce tiny infant baby Jesus...."

Lessons in How to be Terrified

Election day. The day that comes every 4 years, and I have yet to dread it any less. Tomorrow, the fearful day is upon us and our beloved country will choose a new leader. Or elect the anti-christ. One of the two.

In all seriousness, neither candidate looks particularly appealing. McCain is quick tempered and old, Obama is inexperienced and.... well.... I'll just stop there before I get in trouble. I'm considering writing in Nemo on the ballot, because it looks that an animated fish may be the better choice. I considered not voting, but I refuse to give up my right to complain about the government so off to the polls I go. I do enjoy complaining about the government, considering that they all have smarts equivalent to fruit flies.

This election will be historic, regardless of the outcome. Either the first black president or the first woman Veep. It will also be the first presidential election since 1988 which does not carry either a Bush or a Clinton on the ticket. And the first election in something like 50 years in which neither an incumbent president nor vice was not on the ballot. I think that point makes my nerves a bit more sensitive, being that the elected will be completely new to the White House. Ugh.

Not to mention, the policies presented by both parties are seriously lacking in any sort of feasibility. I mean, seriously, fining people for not having health insurance? I cannot think of anything more retarded than that. Hey, you can't afford to pay for health insurance, so the government is going to fine you as a result. Sounds like a great idea! Let's come up with completely unfair taxing practices which will remove taxes from the middle class and tax the upper class 65% of their income! Socialism, anyone? Awesome! And while we're at it, let's yank all of the funding out of charter schools and make home schooling illegal. Great! Or we can just keep our men and women in uniform in the Middle East for the next 100 years. Clearly, that will just solve all of the problems in the Muslim world. The level of brilliance in Washington astounds me. Really, really just... bewildering.

As previously mentioned, I have been looking into purchasing a private island. On the eve of the election with no good choices, this is a very appealing option. I'd much rather be ruler of my own beach with pineapple trees and monkeys than leave the fate of the nation I occupy to the idiots on the Hill. Before you know it, we may either be a military or communist state.

On that note, make sure you get out and vote. Protect your right to moan about the government!

Lessons in Insomnia

Sleep. Oh how I love it. It finds itself near the top of my list of favorite things to do. Along with snuggling, drinking coffee and badminton. Okay, badminton may be a bit of a stretch, but you get the point. I do enjoy sleep immensely. It is a 6 hour escape from reality, in which time my brain, body and emotions get a respite.

However, there is a glitch to this certain favorite thing of mine: I tend to not be able to do it. It is currently 1:21. AM. And considering that daylight savings time has blessed us with an extra hour, my body is telling me that it is actually 2:21. A in the freaking M. Sigh.

I was fortunate enough to be able to attend a concert in Filthadelphia this evening. I returned to my abode at 1 AM, sheerly worn out from a long day. I quickly changed into my jammies, grabbed my laptop, and hopped into bed. And.... boing!!! My eyes are wide open. I could hardly stay awake on the car ride home. And yet, now that I'm all cozy in my sweats and under my oh-so-soft-and-wonderful comforter... Sleep eludes me. How in God's wonderfully green earth does this make sense?? GOSH!

From what I understand, sleep and I have never gotten along especially well. I believe that I was probably one of those infants that woke up its poor exhausted mommy every few hours. My poor mommy. My sleep issues have gotten worse the older I get. The past 5 years or so have found me with on and off phases of insomnia. There are occasional weeks were I have no quandary with falling into that blessed relaxed state rather quickly. But, then the tide turns and its back to lying in bed for several hours before I finally doze off. And lately, that dozing is interrupted by work-induced panic attacks at ungodly hours of the night. So. Not. Fun.

May I also point out that I am not one of those people who does well on little sleep. Not really so much at all. I get whiny. And cranky. And sometimes semi-miserable. I want to throw things at people if they try to make me think. Or function. Then I drink too much caffeine to try to wake up, and I get all jittery. Which brings its own set of problems.

So, on the cursed nights such as tonight, I will find myself getting out of bed to have a cup of tea, wine, or herbal sleep supplements to knock myself out. If that doesn't work, then I may resort to smashing my forehead on the corner of my dresser.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.