This is Your Brain on Sleep Deprivation

Me while dozing off: "You know what we should do sometime? We should take some extra diplomas and fold them up into paper swans. Then, we could set them loose on the moat. And then when the gondola goes by, the people in it could say, 'Oh, look at the swans!' But they wouldn't really be swans. They'd just be diplomas."

(Lest you're wondering, there was no ingestion of alcohol involved in any part of that statement.)

Finally, Signs of Life

Yes, I'm alive. And I'm writing an update! I think that might be very exciting to the three or so people who actually read this. Unfortunately (or. . . um. . . not, depending on how you look at it), today's will be a fairly brief update. But, never fear! Long-winded blathering is coming soon! I'm working on it. For now. . .

I saw a girl yesterday whose T-shirt said, "If You're Rich, Then I'm ______." Yes. That's all I could identify. The last word of that phrase was artfully hidden on the underside of her, ahem, bosom (since we are trying to keep the terminology in this blog somewhat family-friendly). Anyway, the verdict? TOTALLY impossible to read. It irked me because I was genuinely curious to learn what word(s) completed this statement on her T-shirt. What does one do in this situation? "Accidentally" drop something on the floor and stealthily try to read the shirt from a weird angle while picking it up? Tap her on the shoulder and bluntly ask, "Excuse me, what does your shirt say? I have bad eyesight and I just really wanted to know?" Unfortunately, she walked by way too fast and I never could figure it out. If any of you have any inkling of what this shirt might say, please do not hesitate to contact me. It would make my day. I guess I could always google it and try to find out, but frankly, no matter how eager I am to get to the bottom of this mystery, I am much too lazy to conduct such hands-on, intensive research by myself.

I don't think "Just between you and me. . . and keep this COMPLETELY confidential. . ." is really the best appendage to a conversation between two stall occupants in a crowded public restroom. Apparently, certain other people do not share this perspective.

I believe, when a restaurant promises on its menu that it will serve you a sandwich on "thick Texas toast," it should probably not serve you a sandwich on what appears to be Wonder bread. Just my humble opinion, of course. Words could not even come close to describing the soul-crushing disappointment that I experienced.

Now, I'm off to snack on some wholesome granola and pretend that it makes me a health nut.

Today's Dumbest Train of Thought

Hmmmm. My cell phone is dead. And someone is borrowing my charger for a vacation that ends Friday night. Whatever shall I do? Waiting a few more days to charge the phone is not an option. Whatever else may happen, don't ask me to live without a functioning phone, because I simply will not do it. Oh, I know...I could buy a new charger! But I don't feel like going out late tonight and braving all the traffic to buy a new one. OK, then...I'll buy one around here, since I'm out this way, anyway! I think I remember seeing on the Internet that there was a store around here where I could buy it. But I can't remember the exact address. Why, why, why didn't I write it down? Well, let's see...maybe I could call someone from my cell and ask that person to look it up for me? OH, um...wait a second...DAMMIT!

Priorities!

Over the last decade, I've had about four or five regularly recurring dreams, and the latest one to develop (roughly one year ago) involves time travel, of sorts. This dream always lands me back in my senior year of high school, but with precisely the same knowledge and "memories" that I have in the present day. I sit through pre-calculus class, complaining that I don't want to be there when I've already completed grad school. I create a slight stir by crossly shoving away my high school boyfriend when he tries to hug me in the hallway. I even tell a classmate, "I saw on your MySpace page that you're moving to Florida in nine years." Most people laugh or scratch their heads at the sheer lunacy of my statements. Then, they go about their merry way.

This whole state of affairs is very disconcerting. What grabs my attention the most, though, is when my ears crave a specific song. . . causing me to reach instinctively for my iPod. . . only to realize that iPods haven't been invented yet. For that matter, the song I want to play hasn't even been written, let alone recorded. I'm tempted to swap "Curb Your Enthusiasm" jokes with my dad, but then must remind myself that it won't exist for another two years. I'm dying to take my car out for a spin. . . but it's nowhere to be seen. Frequently, these relatively minor things are among the greatest sources of distress for me.

Never mind that the very universe could be turned upside-down. That this skewed timeline is creating a gigantic paradox, and I'm affecting people's futures by telling them exactly what will happen to them, and they're dying young in car crashes because my actions are putting them in the wrong place at the wrong time, meaning that the entire course of history could be forever destroyed.

What really matters the most, dammit, is that my 26-going-on-18-year-old self can no longer watch O.K. Go's treadmill video on demand.