Holiday stress

Ah, the holiday season.  High spirits.  Good intentions.  Lights.  Trees.  Decorations.  Egg nog.  Fruit cake.  Shopping.  Crowds.  Bad traffic/drivers.  A frenzy of me, me, me, mine, mine, mine.  I tend to avoid the high-intensity, crowded shopping part of it at all costs, so I go on off-times, when stores are more likely to be busy, but not insane.  I really hate shopping, so I go with a list of stuff I already know I am looking for so I can get in, get out, and get on with my life.

The shopping part of things, thankfully, isn't where my stress is.  My stressors are getting my living room picked up and getting my tree put up and figuring out whose house we're going to on which day or night of the season, and figuring out how to get stuff out of my friend's basement which I temporarily stored there but which I have no room for in my own home.  This removal of stuff needs to happen before Christmas, so this, on top of the usual holiday stress, has me - quite literally - tearing my hair out.

I need to find an inexpensive storage place.  A local one, preferably.  And I need to borrow someone's truck so I can move stuff to it.  AND, I need to find the extra money to pay for it all.  I wish I could say, "Screw it," and just handle it after the holiday season is over, but that's not what needs to happen.

Anyway - I'll figure it out.  I always do. 

I guess I just needed to vent.

Thanks for listening...whoever you are.

TTFN
JMS

That elusive thing called Sleep

As most of you probably have figured out, I love sleep just about as much as I love coffee.  Sleep, however, is becoming more and more elusive for me and I must say: I really don’t like it.  (Hubby would probably be making comments here right now about snoring and stealing covers, but he rarely reads my blog so, whatever.  It’s funny, the person I most want to read my blog…doesn’t.  I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t care, he just doesn’t want to take the time to read all these words.  It is the same with when I’m telling him something face to face; there comes a point in any conversation where I can see he’s tuned me out and isn’t really listening anymore.  It’s OK.  I’m pretty sure it’s a guy thing.)

Anyway – back to sleep.  Or, more accurately, the lack of it.

So the other night it was about 11:30 and I had put away Netflix for the evening because I felt it was in my best interest to attempt a few hours of sleep in order to be fully prepared for work the next day.  (This would have been Sunday night, I believe.)  Here’s how that went:

Flop.

                                Shift.

                                                                Flop again.

                                                                                                Sigh.

Hm…I’ve never noticed that red light before, I wonder what that is...?

                Flop.  Sigh.

                                What time is it?

                11:40 PM.

                                                Sit up.  Pound pillow in frustration.  Adjust, adjust.  Sigh.

Blink, blink.  That street light is awfully bright.  I really need to get some black out curtains.

                Hm…I wonder what time it is?

                                                11:45 PM.

Crap.  Am I gonna do this all night?

Flop.  Adjust, adjust.  I think I might need a snack.

                                No, you don’t need a snack, dummy!  It’s almost midnight and you’re counting calories.

But…please?

                NO!  Stay where you are…I’m warning you!

                                But…can’t I just go look in the fridge?

Oh, for heaven’s sake!

                                                FLOP!  SIGH!  POUND POUND!  Crap!  Did I just wake up hubby?

This, essentially, went on in a similar form or fashion until about 2:30 AM when my exhausted brain and body finally gave in to that elusive thing called sleep.  I woke at 5:15 AM to take my thyroid medicine (as I always do), fully expecting to sleep another 30-45 minutes (as I always do) but NO-OOO!  I was awake now.  Not as in simply not asleep anymore.  I was A-W-A-K-E!

Dammit.

OK. 

So, going back to the Netflix thing.  It seems to be that the more occupied my brain is with other things the less likely I am to sleep.  I try to numb my brain into submission by occupying it with something else, like reading (which doesn’t work as well as it used to) or, now, Netflix or Amazon Prime movies and TV shows.  If I’m watching a movie, I choose something I’ve seen so that I might grow bored earlier and drift off to the Land of Nod without missing something exciting, or, at the very least interesting.  If I’m watching a TV show, it’s harder because if the show is good, I want to binge watch and immediately move right on to the next episode, and the next, and the next, and before I know it it’s nearly midnight…again.

Reading used to help a lot.  I’d get into a book and, regardless of how good the book was, I’d eventually get to a point where I realized I was reading the same sentence over and over and over again.  I’m off reading right now, though.  I haven’t found anything lately that piques my interest and I don’t want to re-read any of my old standbys.  I guess I’m in a Reading Rut.

I know there are a bazillion tricks that people all over the world have to help one sleep.  Counting sheep, sleeping on your left side instead of your right, changing your pillow, adding a pillow, removing a pillow, turning down the house temperature, meditating (something I’ve NEVER been good at, though I’ve tried hundreds of times), warm milk (ick), warm bath…  The list goes on and on.

Counting sheep bores me.  I already sleep on my left side.  I switch out my pillow situation about every other night.  Hubby keeps the house temp at 67° at night anyway, which is either too cold, or too warm.  And that’s another thing, I’m usually TOO WARM.  But if I kick off the covers, then I’m too cold.  If I cover up, and kick one foot/leg out that helps, but then when I turn over I get all woozled (yes, woozled) up and I have to start all over again.

I won’t bore you with more.  I’m sure, if you’re human (and possibly a female human in her forties) you’ve been through this.  I envy those who can put their head on a pillow and be out like a light in about thirty seconds (ahem…girl-child!).  My friend, Scoop, can put his head down, be asleep in about thirty seconds, sleep hard for like five minutes, and wake up completely refreshed and ready to go.  I’ve never understood folks like that.

Anyway – wish me luck.  This time, it’s been about a week since I’ve slept through the night.  Not taking into account the night when I took some cold medicine and was down for the count.  That’s medicated sleep, which I do not recommend as a viable alternative to the real thing.

TTFN

JMS

I see the light!

In a push to further automate our lives, we as a people – the smart ones – have installed automatic light switches with sensors.  In theory, they are supposed to turn lights on when you enter a room by sensing your movement and, after a period of no motion, turn the lights off.  Efficient.  Saves energy.  An all-around good idea, yes?  Yes.  That is, until the sensor does not see, or does not respond, when one walks into a room, leaving one in the dark.

For example, the light sensor in the break room at my office is wonky.  Every morning I go in there with the empty coffee pot to rinse out and refill, and my coffee cup to wash.  I push open the break room door and…nothing.  I can stand in what should be perfect seeing range of the light sensor and dance around like a fool holding my empty coffee pot and my needing-to-be-cleaned mug hoping no one is watching and…still nothing.  Waving my arms doesn’t work either, I’ve tried it.  Walking in front of the light pouring out of the vending machine thinking that my shadow may trick the sensor into turning on the light?  Nope.  (Sigh)  Never mind.

So, I efficiently take care of business in the mostly-dark room.  Upon finishing the rinsing and the washing and the refilling, I turn around to leave the room, take one step in the direction of the door and TA DA! The lights come on.

Every.  Blessed.  Morning.

And while we’re on the subject of coffee, might I say that my seven year old daughter, who I love with all my heart, is a prime candidate for coffee first thing in the morning?  That’s not to say I plan to start giving her coffee at this tender age, but boy – I sure hope she turns out to be a coffee-drinker.  In fact, it would be a service to all mankind if someone were to wake her up with a fresh cup of coffee in-hand.  She shouldn’t be allowed to set her feet on the floor without having consumed at least one cup of the strongest coffee available.  Life with my beautiful, wonderful, sweet girl would return and be much more tolerable.  This would not be considered spoiling her, it would be considered self-preservation.  My self.

TTFN
JMS