Of sleeplessness, and Terror Condition Elmo
Haven't had much to do with this space lately. Bothersome job, annoying responsibilities, and all that. I'm getting ever closer to buying a digital camera (since I do these things the hard way, by saving money until I can afford to purchase one outright). A digicam would bail me out at times like this. I'd be able to post pictures when I'm not feeling especially verbose. Never mind that posting pictures, the way Radio would have me do it, would take more time than banging out an entry.

My days just seem to be shorter lately, and that perception isn't helped by the midwinter solar cycle. When it's dark outside before 5:30 I'm naturally inclined to feel more sluggish. That hypothetical T-shirt stand in Enseñada beckons even more when we have an Arctic blow-through like we did last night. And man, what a blow. Um, hello winter. It blew through hard enough to open my balcony door and deposit a scrim of squalled snow on my living room carpet. When I got home last night it was about 45 degrees in here. My apartment complex has central heat, which means it's ruthlessly, boiler-room efficient, but it couldn't keep up with this 40 mph headwind and the direct-from-Lake-Superior chill.

Jury's still out on how much my houseplants enjoyed spending the evening. In their plant-like sentience, they want to relocate to Baja too. And I suppose the lock on the balcony door isn't just a security consideration. Like the lock on the door at 7-Eleven, the reason for its existence isn't immediately obvious.

I should be taking security more seriously, even though I'm well above street level and only the most intrepid, rappelling Ninja burglars could gain entry to my apartment, and all the riches contained therein, through the balcony. But I've had a hard time doing that since a friend took to calling our current "orange alert" status "Terror Condition Ernie." I'm now equating our Homeland Security color-coding to Muppets. Can't be helped. We're normally under Terror Condition Bert (which seems wrong because Bert strikes me as more menacing than Ernie), and pray to avoid Terror Condition Elmo.

With all this randomness rebounding against the insides of my skull, it should surprise few readers that I've been having trouble sleeping lately. I hit the rack and then the brain goes on nightwatch... "Xylem Up and Phloem Down" is a brilliant mnemonic! Why haven't they ever found any Sasquatch corpses? Does Paula Zahn think our nation is at the forefront of neo-imperialism? Am I really this unlovable? Will my tires sneak through the state inspection next month?

Yeah, I probably should be blogging then, but that would be outrageously counterproductive for me. So, I've been working on ways to improve my chances of obtaining a US RDA of REM. (Actual pause here while I actually fire up my long forgotten "Eponymous" CD on the stereo. Keep me out of country in the word... Deal the porch is leading us absurd... Sure don't write 'em like that anymore, ah ah oww, ba ba bow bow bowww.

1983 called, it wants its records back.

Anyway, my quest for a good night's sleep has taken on a life of its own. To date, I have: replaced the light-sieve barely covering my bedroom window with an outrageously expensive and unstylish Hunter-Douglas room-darkener; employed a box fan as a "white noise" generator; improved the thread count of my bedlinens; opted for a lighter meal at night; eschewed the intake of caffeinated beverages after a certain hour; stopped watching Conan O'Brien right before bed; evaluated whether my mind is really just trying to release itself from a dark pit of isolation; and bought fluffier pillows. And, for all that, I report merely marginal improvement. This disturbs me. I need to solve this sleep-deprived existence quite soon.

And remember to lock the door. 10:14:46 AM    comment []trackback []