#TBT

All along I've told myself the point of this blog and most of my creative endeavors in my current life is to work myself through/hash out the struggles of my maturing, adult self. Well, I found an old post from about seven years ago. And interestingly enough, some things really never do change:


Current Listening: Rufus Wainwright
Hours of Sleep: 3.25

I came home early last night though I was having a lovely time with some of my favorite boys. I decided that Monday night was a good one to put the night life on hold and try to catch up on some sleep. I didn't. And the drugs don't work anymore.
People tell me I should write while in the throes of insomnia. And I do, but I don't think those people understand the complete incoherence that goes along with lack of sleep. Just because I'm awake doesn't mean I'm clear enough to work on a diabolical plan to take over the world like some genius artist cutting off his own ears. Actually, I'm usually not even clear enough to tie my own shoes even when I am sleeping well. So now we're looking at a rough schedule of what goes on in the middle of my nights when I'm not otherwise engaged:

12:15 ish: in fabulous bed that everyone I know is jealous of
12:45 ish: tossing and turning in bed that is becoming less fabulous
1:30 ish: reading in wretched bed
2:30 ish: reading on fabulous sofa
2:45 ish: paint nails, color: Cranberry
3:30 ish: sleep
4:45 ish: eat Froot Loops in embarrassing quantity
5:00 ish: watch The Patty Duke Show
6:00: hand wash dishes with newly painted nails
7:00: pissed at pretentious personality lacking local weatherman, flip channels
8:15 ish: bored to tears by the year that changed Diane Sawyer's life, sleep
10:00: call to schedule manicure for ravaged, suffering, newly painted/dish washing hands

So now with Froot Loop regret and stunning fingertips I am thinking of who I should see tonight and how late I could possibly stay out on a Tuesday. I probably won't make it through dinner...