Insomniaville: The Journal

4/23 -- Memo To:

Look into my eyes. you are getting sleeepyyyy...sleeeeeepyyyy ....(I tried to take a closeup picture of myself and got a little too close to the webcam. Then I decided that a closeup of my deranged eyes had definite possibilities. You have my permission to print out that picture and tell your kids that I'm going to come get them if they don't eat their beets.)

Memo to the Weather Gods: Please, for the love of God, make up your minds. Or get some quality sleep and knock it off with the moodswings already. Two weeks ago, we had summer. Last week, winter made a return appearance. This week, we're in the middle of summer again. 85 degrees and very humid. Ugh. Blech. If it's like this now in April, I'm going to be ready to kill something by July.

The only joy I get out of this kind of weather is walking in the door after a long day's work, stripping clothes off and leaving them where they fall as I run through the apartment towards the bathroom, turning the A/C down illegally low for a few minutes, and hopping into a nice tepid shower to scrub off all the layers of humidity goo.

This entry was originally going to be a long story about how I forgot to put on deodorant this morning and had to buy an emergency backup deodorant, but as I was writing it I said to myself, "Self -- if I just clicked on this journal for the first time and found you babbling on at length about how you forgot your deodorant, I'd be clicking the hell on out of here."

So I'll leave it at this:

Memo to Deodorant Manufacturers Everywhere: What in the world is the point of these newfangled deodorant dispensers where you have to turn the base and push the white stuff up through those annoying little holes in the plastic? Does anybody like this setup better than the old-fashioned stick? Isn't it a big mess? Doesn't it get all over your clothes, or am I even less coordinated than usual?

Memo to Select Metro Commuters: If you honestly think that your giant duffel bag deserves a seat all its own on a crowded train, then do the honest thing and buy it a goddamned fare card. Either that, or PUT IT ON THE FLOOR. The rest of us who'd like a seat will thank you, though not as much as your back would probably thank you if you got a smaller bag in the first place. I'm beginning to think that Washingtonians carry bodies to and from work. I don't know what else they could be schlepping around in some of these huge bags.

Memo to People Who Don't Notice the Painfully Obvious: I redesigned the journal. Yay for me. If anything looks out of kilter or horrifying on your monitor, do let me know.

Indulging my inner hit slut

(If you're happy and you know it, send me Clix.)

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