The notion of sleep

Ah, sleep. Who knew you'd be so elusive? After incubating a child, and then birthing said child, and then waking up every two-to-three hours to feed the aforementioned child, I naively thought that my body would be thoroughly apt to fall asleep easier and earlier once her sleep patterns became established.

I guess it wasn't meant to be.

There was that one time, back when I was pre-maritally dating my husband, where he had somewhere to be where I didn't also have to be. Which meant my head hit the pillow at nine p.m. sharp. And my eyes closed and my REM cycle began and all was right with the world. You know, the one time that actually happened to me? 

I think my main issue is genetics. It's a God-given Lalli family trait to suffer from insomnia, and my hairy legs, et al. will attest that I'm pretty much all Lalli. So hooray for random maladies such as poor sleeping habits and poor circulation in my hands and feet. And maybe also my temper? Is that stretching it a bit too far? 

Sleep-aids are out... mainly because of that unfortunate, Ambien-induced hallucinogenic experience that occurred at Heathrow Airport back in '06. Not my finest moment. But then again, I don't really remember it. Except that do I remember really, REALLY wanting a blueberry muffin from Starbucks. Also, I couldn't figure out how to email my parents because the coin slot to the computer machine kept moving. Um, yeah.

So here I sit, at the computer, knowing full well that tomorrow I'm going to feel this. And that there's no  guarantee that once I do get into bed that these guys won't keep me up anyway. Shrug. 

wide awake

it's exactly 5:55 in the am as i begin this post. i am wide awake. so is my daughter. we've been this way since about 4:45 this morning. in an effort to allow the husb some stolen moments of sleep, i'm sitting out in our family room, bouncing the baby in her bouncy chair (and yes, that is a technical term), blogging and trying to get some work done.

sleep deprivation does interesting things to your brain. i find that, just as i am about to use a certain word, it slips away from my tongue, and in its place, incoherent babbling. i find my brain, in general, is slower to process things that once were automatic. i often feel like i have to wade through the soupy-ness (also a technical term) that is the remainder of my mental acuity like someone wading through quicksand. and by telling you this, i am not complaining, rather explaining. so that if you chance to run across me these days, you will understand that i am not what i once was in the brain department.

this is all ok to me, just fyi.

probably because she's just so dang cute...

who wouldn't love that beautiful smile?

And round two goes to the cold...

Remember how I said I was only going to take NyQuil for two nights?

I stubbornly held to this declaration after feeling exponentially better on Wednesday. The night came, and I defiantly laughed at the bottle of Cherry NyQuil perched on my sink.

Bad idea.

Wednesday night was fraught with my "normal" off-the-wall dreams (driving a semi-truck by Lake Victoria in order to evade bombing terrorists... really?) and multiple mid-slumber awakenings. With the lovely addition of all things congested.

Thursday was subsequently filled with droopy eyelids, no appetite and an overall languor that I'm sure was readily visible, in spite of my best efforts to conceal it.

So let's just say I took some NyQuil last night. [And it was slumberlicious, thank you very much.]

Overflow.

Most nights it takes me awhile to fall asleep. No matter how heavy my lids, or exhausted my limbs, it seems that the act of actually crawling into bed and curling into my favorite sleep-time position renders a frustratingly acute form of insomnia. The only thing that even remotely induces me to sleep is when I snuggle up to the one I love most... but this becomes problematic because sometimes he twitches a bit when he is falling asleep. And I am the lightest sleeper in the history of mankind. (It's definitely soothing while it lasts, though.)

I think my main problem is rooted in the fact that I tend to think too much... I analyze the events of the day, I tend to stress about upcoming events at work... even when I try to relax, it seems my brain has a mind of its own (pardon the pun). There are certain little things that have been nagging at me for awhile, that apparently I have not gotten off of my chest, and so they have become larger and more significant than I think is necessary.

First off, I am bothered by the constant mimicking I see in the blogosphere. There have been instances of blatant plagiarism (which I think is incredibly low brow and disappointing) on some of the more prominent blogs I read, even when their content in copyright protected. But perhaps even more disconcerting in some cases is the creative plagiarism that I have been seeing, and that has even happened to me personally. While its true that I don't believe that all ideas are completely original, it bothers me when I see someone who takes an idea from someone else and passes it off as their own. Case in point, I think it would have been disingenuous of me to say that my "Three Truths and One Lie" series was something I came up with myself. Instead, I gave credit to the blog that inspired the idea. Sure, the idea in of itself is wholly unoriginal, but it was the reading of her posts that sparked my interest in doing something similar on my bloggity. Thus, she received credit for being my inspiration. Unfortunately, it seems that I have never been returned this favor. And it irks me when I know that some of my ideas and even some of my phrases have been extracted and-- pardon the expression-- bastardized on someone else's blog. This is one of the downsides of such a forum. And I guess, to a certain extent, it must be tolerated. But come on, people!

Another thing I have been grappling with lately is that fact that the older I get, the more and more cognizant I am of the fact that most grown ups are not grown up at all. I am often in contact with individuals much older than myself, and I surprised at the pettiness and childishness that prevails in some of the interactions I have had. I also have observed similar occurrences in the lives of people I am close to, which is also disheartening. I thought I graduated high school awhile ago... but it seems like it is alive and well in the world of adults. Oft times I can just brush it off, or even laugh about the ridiculousness of it all, but lately it's been gnawing away at my nerves. It's maddening, really.

I also feel like my ability to write and write fairly well has significantly diminished. This is frustrating to me because I feel that this is the one skill that I have that I have tried to keep sharp... while other abilities I have had have fallen by the wayside. It's hard to have so many thoughts and ideas swirling around in my brain without a proper conduit to elucidate them all. I feel that there are always fragments of good ideas on the tip of my tongue that are quashed by other, more imposing forces.

But the writing of these irritants has been cathartic. I feel a little bit lighter now that I have written them down, albeit a bit simplistically. And if anyone is still reading this, I apologize for the ranting nature of this post. Though I think many of you can empathize in one regard or another.

So I think I'm being haunted by The Pizza Factory

I think I will preface this by mentioning that I'm an insomniac. It's a trait I get from my Lalli side (you know, along with my Italian features and perfectionist tendencies) that has pretty much plagued me my whole life.

So when I do actually sleep, I would love it if I could have normal dreams. Instead of the ones I do have, which include hiding from cannibalistic werewolf people in a closet and covering myself with towels. Because those fuzzy, green towels would totally save me from cannibalistic were-people. Why I couldn't have hidden in a closet full of bazookas is beyond me.

At any rate, I have been experiencing a recurring dream, or shall I say nightmare, ever since I began serving at The Pizza Factory back in college. Though the people in the dream, the way the restaurant looks, etc. change, the scenario remains the same: I go to work and am ready to get my server on, and then I get quadruple (or quintuple-- is that even a word?) sat with huge tables and for some reason am unable to perform the most basic server-ish functions. (I.E. get them drinks... take their order... get to the actual table... it's ridiculous.) In the past month I believe I have had 2-3 of such dreams, and they're getting progressively worse. I wake up in a cold sweat and praise the heavens that I'm no longer a server. (And those of you who know me well would know that it is utterly absurd that I performed this job for the better part of four years, seeing as how it's a job entirely against my bashful nature.)

Perhaps I'm having this dream a lot because I am, once again, swimming in the sea that is professional mediocrity. Perhaps I'm just craving the food again. (Hey, I lived on it for four years. Saved a lot of grocery money.) Perhaps I'm just a psychopath that needs to engage in a sleep study. It's befuddling really.

But, in my heart of hearts, I'm seriously beginning to believe that the PF is haunting me.

And it's getting old.

when husband goes out of town...

wife doesn't get any sleep. why, you ask? maybe she reverts back to her old (and thoroughly unhealthy) collegiate habit of staying up way too late for her own good. maybe she doesn't like sleeping in an empty (and subsequently 10 degrees cooler) bed. maybe she is lonely.

maybe it's all of the above. :(

just fyi: in the past five days my average "lights out" time (which in no way factors in the "tossing and turning because i'm an insomniac" and "turn off the incessant humming of my thoughts because during the day i am working like a drone" time) is 12:18 am. markedly different from the usual time of 10:45 pm. eesh.

I'm having a difficult time today/What I should have done instead of go to college

Let me preface this by just underscoring the fact that I am greatly blessed. I have an amazing husband and family and so many other things that I will not take the time to expound in this post, mainly because it would be infinitely long. That being said, today has not been the best day.

Work's hard. I come in everyday and it's different. Some days I'm ok. Others, I feel like someone has kicked me in the gut. I'm trying to deal with it the best way I can, and really trying not to be a drama queen. But it's difficult when the moment you walk in the door you're bombarded with a barrage of complaints or questions or whatever else. I'm learning patience.

Yesterday was an interesting day. The husband and I walked out to where my car was parked, with the purpose of attending church, only to discover that my car was gone. Admittedly, it was parked in a non-spot in our lot that others frequently utilize when the other spots are full. Since there was no info or evidence that it had merely been towed, Greg called the police to report a stolen vehicle. It was then we discovered that no, my car had not been stolen, yes, it had been towed, and thankfully the number to the towing company was provided. We called them and were told to go to their location (a total DIVE, btw), pay them TWO HUNDRED and SEVENTY-FOUR dollars (in exact cash) in order to get our vehicle back. So an ATM stop and a quick gum purchase at 7-11 (because they wouldn't just give us two tens for a twenty) later, we found ourselves bailing poor Lola the Corolla out of impound hell. (I should have skipped college, and prob high school for that matter, rented a cheap piece of land, worn my pants half-way down my butt, and screwed a lot of people out of money for a living. It's a brilliant plan really.)

After we got my car, we got a disheartening call from G's dad. Greg's grandma, Shirley contracted an infection that has spread throughout her whole body, and thus does not have a lot of time left to live. So we spent the remainder of what would have been church time up at the hospital. Though this is really hard for G's family, it's also a blessing because Shirley has had a pretty low quality of life. She suffers from dementia and has recently become a lot worse. So we are happy that she will soon suffer no more and are grateful for the great grandma she has been, and revel in the glorious plan that weaves us all together.

My insomnia has returned in full force, and random thoughts such as this have been infiltrating what was once sleep time:

Thank you John McCain for making my voting decision easy... now I have to vote for Obama since Palin's so clueless. (See exhibit A)

Imitation is NOT the highest form of flattery. In fact, it's actually quite annoying.

I love Special K. Why haven't I gotten it lately?

Steve's REALLY gone. What does that mean for this and this and this...

The Yankees suck. They ARE NOT going to make the post season. My guy Joe G. is in TROUble.

I'm so proud of my brother Joe; he'll be a great missionary. And I'm gonna miss that kid.

Why can't I field a grounder anymore?

Why does my body feel like the body of a 60 year old?

I love love LOVE my husband.

I am really REALLY excited for my one year anniversary.

I wonder if we'll make it to Lagoon this year.

(It's a wonder why it's difficult for me to sleep isn't it?)

Ah, the effects of sleep deprivation

So it's been a little while since I have last blogged. Which is fine, I think, because I don't always like to hear myself talk (or write, as it were). Shrug.

Anyway, after spending a glorious Thanksgiving break in b town and then in Vegas, I was perturbed and dismayed to find that my insomnia has returned in full force. For those of you who are not aware of my propensity for this dysfunction, I will tell you that I have been an insomniac for the greater part of my life... let's just say I got through college on an average of three hours of sleep a night-- and a lot of dp come paper writing time. I don't think it helps that I am a total night owl and that every time my alarm rings at precisely 6:23 in the morning (no wait, I lied, now it's 6:35) that I think it should be a bedtime. I've tried to change, to go to bed at nine and wake up all refreshed in the morning. It doesn't work. Every time that alarm rings I still want to throw it against the wall. And I'm not typically a violent person.

The past three nights have been (for lack of a better word) hell for me. Sunday I dreamt that a homeless man stopped my car by ripping off my side mirror, making me get out of the car and then threatening me with a large and very serrated knife. That one found me ripped out of sleep at about two am, never again to obtain some desperately needed REM cycles, but to experience even trippy-er dreams... mostly involving homeless people. (Perhaps being accosted by them at least three times a week is getting to me.) The next night was a delight (note my dripping sarcasm) as my body decided to wake up every two hours the entire night. 2...4...6... SO much fun!!

And then we have last night.

Hey, I went to bed at 10:38, hoping to reap the benefits of getting to bed at a "decent" hour. I turned out the lights after reading my new favorite novel, The Fountainhead, (which I HIGHLY recommend to all you deep thinkers out there) feeling content, ready for a full night's sleep. It wasn't meant to be. Instead I woke up about five or six times, tossing and turning whilst having trippy dreams about crazy architects. You would understand if you were currently reading The Fountainhead, and don't let that dissuade you from reading it. I am an insomniactic freak at times. I'm just glad that my erratic behavior is not adversely effecting Greg. He slept like a rock, and I'm glad. One of us should be coherent. At least Christmas is on it's way... which means lots of days off for the L-Train. Perhaps it will help assuage my disorder so that one day i may be able to get a full night's rest.

Other than this mild irriation, life's good, and I'll probably be doing a cheesy-ish post about my first attempt at Christmas tree ornamentation. But we shall see.