May 9, 2009


So, just how tired can someone get, and still hide out in the general masses, with their zombieness more or less undetected?

It's not that I'm a real danger to anyone; it's just that I go through phases where sleep is both the seductress and the enemy. I crave her and I chase her, but even when I hold her in my exhausted arms for 8 hours, I walk through my day only wanting more. If I wander through my room to perhaps put away laundry or chase a black cat off my white bathrobe, I can hear her whispering from the rumpled bed.

I dropped Ari off at school the other day. A small lad was walking down the sidewalk, awkwardly holding his heavy backpack. "Awww," I thought to myself. "That poor little guy only has one arm." No, his other arm behind his back, reaching for a strap. But I believed 'he only has one arm' was a sensible assumption to seize upon first.

I drove another two blocks, and saw an older sedan parked outside of a home. A man was sitting in the front seat. I looped around and crawled slowly by, writing down the licence plate number and the make and model of the car. I even wrote the colour - baby poo brown - and carried on. I was worried this information might prove to be important if I had happened across a crime about to happen. The next day, the car was there again, with the other painters who were working on the house. This is my brain: making pedophiles out of painters and ripping the limbs off of children.

I am misreading things. As I type this, is scheduling an outrage at 2:00AM on Monday. Wait, make that an outage. I keep hearing commercials for screaming videos on websites. Okay, streaming videos.

We were watching the Magnificent Seven last night. I was so absorbed in staring at Yul Brynner's butt (and Steve McQueen's, and well, everyone), that the phone rang and rang and rang. And I believed it was a phone ringing in the movie. That takes place in the middle of a small Mexican farming village in the middle of the last century. "Do you know that is Charles Bronson?" I asked the Poor Sod. "Yeah, you already said that. Twice."

I'm going for a nap. I really like the Dear Me letters in the last blog entry. Thanks, guys.


Blogger FibCarver said...

Being THAT tired isn't right, Lorraine. Have you had your thyroid or whatever checked lately?

May 09, 2009 9:16 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hey, I know the feeling Lorraine... Sleep? What the hell is that? Imagination runs wild with sleep deprivation. No one needs drugs for a high to see things in a bizzare light, it just flows without a hitch...


May 10, 2009 10:55 AM  
Blogger OmemeeOzzie said...

My paternal grandfather once said he'll get all the sleep he needs when he dies; he's been sleeping for over thirty years now... a man wise beyond my years... way to go, Jimmy!

May 10, 2009 7:24 PM  
Blogger Chris Brown (not the felon) said...

My job requires me to sleep at bizarre and inhumane hours sometimes for just two or three hours at a time. Whenever I get home after times like those I tell Catherine "No pointy objects and no power tools for a day." So far I have only required emergency repairs twice and I still have the letters from the Red Cross demanding that the next time I give that much blood it should be to them... not the sewage system of Oakville.

I learned very early in my career that if you're tired... sleep. Unless you're driving a car or flying an airplane. Then just drink plenty of coffee and engage in some stimulating conversation. Napping is like making love. Do it when it feels right... for as long as you like... the longer the better, although, on very rare occasions, 10 or 15 minutes is OK.

And look how much more coherent you are when you're done.

Naps are my best friends. Never met one I didn't like.

May 11, 2009 10:23 AM  

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