Been meaning to post this xkcd somewhere because it rings so true, but hadn’t gotten around to it because I’m so damn tired.
Between Chaplin being doped up on painkillers for a kidney issue and me being massively sleep-deprived, I’m not sure which one of us is going to become convinced he can talk first.
I’ve been really tired all week, but somehow I’m still managing to stay up until 2 or 3am.
Chaplin seems to be biologically programmed to wake up at about 8am and knock shit over until I drag myself out of bed, so things are not going to be fun until I can convince my body that really, midnight is a perfectly reasonable time to go to sleep.
I haven’t had hard-core insomnia in a while, so I’d forgotten a few things about it. Things get much much quieter in my neighborhood, since the dull roar of the freeway fades to almost nothing.
Sounds I normally wouldn’t notice, like the ticking of the clock over my TV or the ringing in my ears from years of thinking I was going to be a rock star, become overwhelming.
The biggest problem with insomnia when unemployed is that it’s very difficult to motivate myself to get back on a normal schedule, because really, what do I really need to get up for?
Other than, you know, my sanity?
Chaplin has decided that on some mornings, I don’t get to sleep in.
He bats at my glasses on the table next to my bed, making a loud clatter when he knocks them down or forcing me to get up and chase him if he manages to pick them up with his teeth. He stares out the window, yowling at anything that walks by.
I know why he does it – he wants me to feed him. But half the time I’ll get up to feed him and he’ll still have plenty of food left. Since I put him on the super-expensive prescription wet food, I generally don’t give him any more food until he’s finished what he’s got.
Sometimes if I just move to the couch to sleep (which I’ve been doing a fair amount lately anyway to relieve the back pain caused by my craptastic mattress), he’ll leave me alone. But sometimes he’ll just jump up on the coffee table and start knocking things off of it instead.
And of course, once I’m actually up and at ‘em, even if I haven’t fed him, he’ll stop being a little shit. He just wants to play. I would understand a bit more if I were working, because he’d be home alone all day. But being unemployed he’s got me to play with all damn day most of the time, and he generally just sleeps in the bedroom.
Of course, not working it’s more of an annoyance than anything else, since whatever sleep I lose I’ll almost definitely make up with a nap. Probably with him sleeping on my chest.
It’s always fun to play the game, “Do I feel blah because…?” This week’s candidates:
I’m at least trying to do something about #1 and #3 – I decided to take a couple computer science classes in the fall at my friendly local community college to prevent my brain from turning completely to mush, and to do so online so I can keep going even if I do get a job.
I also decided it’s time to break down and crack into some super-on-ice-pretend-they-don’t-exist funds and get a new mattress, just to be able to get a decent night’s sleep for once.
I’m just going to have to cross my fingers it’s not #2.
It’s been hellaciously hot in L.A. this week, so the fleas that I thought I’d gotten rid of are back with a MASSIVE vengeance. The only real solution is to flea-bomb the house to kill ‘em all.
The problem is, flea-bombing is a stupidly elaborate and time-consuming process, since it has a tendency to cover everything in a sticky, disgusting, chemical-filled film. You therefore have to cover some stuff up in advance, and wash a lot more stuff off afterwards.
I’m also working ridiculously late (or early, depending on your perspective). Our crew call was really late, and my call was 5:30 PM. That means they expect to be shooting until at least 5:30 AM. You know it’s going to be a long night when the thing that will cause filming to stop is the sunrise.
All that in mind, here is my rough schedule for the next 36 hours:
Now-6AM: Work in my office where they’ve turned off the air conditioning. Possibly longer.
6-7AM: Drive back to Santa Monica, try to obtain a flea fogger at Ralph’s (the grocery store).
7-8AM: Prepare apartment for fogging by putting all open food and dishes in either the fridge or the dishwasher and sealing.
8AM-9AM: Drop Chaplin off for flea dip, go to pet store and get flea fogger if Ralph’s didn’t have one.
9:30 AM – Set off flea fogger. Flee to Nate’s house and take a nap for 2-3 hours while flea fogger does its bit.
12 Noon-1PM – Go home, open windows and let apartment air out.
1PM-2PM – Return to Nate’s and napping, let apartment finish airing out.
2PM-3PM – Retrieve cat from groomers, take him home. Start to clean up.
3PM-9PM – Continue cleaning and laundering. Probably pass out from exhaustion. Hopefully will not die from whatever toxic fumes remain in my apartment.
9PM-11PM – Wake up, realize I never made it to the gym and that now I have to go in the morning. Finish cleaning.
11PM-6AM – Sleep.
6AM-9AM – Get up, go to the gym, go to work.
If I don’t post for several days, send help.
I think because I’m so tired I’m finding everything funny…
Earlier tonight, a tornado went right over the headquarters of the National Weather Service, which, among many many other things, tracks tornadoes and tries to predict where they’re going to go.
That must have been a fun realization: “Steve, how’s that twister you’re tracking?”
“Uh…RUN!”
I wonder if the NWS is like the White House, where there’s an entire underground bunker that allows the place to continue to function in the event of an emergency.
That’d kind of suck if they were unable to track the tornado that was coming for your quiet Arkansas town since they were too busy…well, running for their lives.
Again, I have no idea why this entire scenario I’ve constructed in my head makes me giggle, but it does. I need sleep.
Wearing a mouthguard is weird.
I had to order one because I’ve been super-stressed what with the strike and all, and have been grinding my teeth when I sleep, leading to some fairly irritating jaw pain.
I’d done this before when I was unemployed, and my dentist had suggested $1500 worth of contraptions to prevent recurrence, but I got my current job shortly after that suggestion, and the grinding subsided.
Doing some research, I discovered that for most people, the $1500 kit is severe overkill, and the $15 boil-and-bite mouthguards you can pick up for sports tend to do well enough.
I’m trying it tonight for the first time, and the instructions suggested leaving it in my mouth for a while to get used to it.
It’s a really bizarre feeling, but I think the fact that I’m utterly exhausted should help with trying to get to sleep, since I’ve been ready to pass out all damn day.
Anyway, off to give this a shot. I guess if I can’t sleep, I’m covered if I want to go out and participate in a boxing match or tackle football game instead.
All around my neighborhood, people are heeding a piece of advice given by a non-Apu convenience store clerk on The Simpsons:
“Celebrate the independence of your nation by blowing up a small part of it!”
Between them and the cat repeatedly pouncing on me (a delightful new habit that’s cropped up since I returned to work), I don’t think I’m going to get much sleep tonight.