Ode to Sleeplessness (Composed while counting sheep)

Insomnia
Insomnia
Nothing rhymes with insomnia

My body is tired
But my brain is wired
Don’t know how I acquired
This insomnia

I go straight to sleep
My slumber is deep
Then for gosh sake
I’m wide awake

I turn to the left and turn to the right
No body position will lessen my plight
I could hang like a bat
Upside down in a cave
I could get up and work
Like a nocturnal slave

From three until five, no relief is in sight
At six a.m., I’m out like a light
But it’s time to wake up
I’ve lost the fight.

Insomnia
Insomnia
Not a problem for some of ya

No, that doesn’t work either.

That Christmas Spirit!

A company that I do freelance work for made the generous offer to shoot family photos for Christmas cards free of charge. I know my teenaged son well, so knew that this wasn’t an option, but decided to string him along if I could. With a straight face, I explained the whole scenario as he was eating lunch, then asked, “So, when will you be available for the family photo shoot?”

Without looking up from his meal, he replied, “On the 5th of not a chance in hell.”

Dog Day Afternoon

My 12-year-old Lab has an abscessed tooth that must be removed. The operation requires that he have anesthesia, so I’m worried. Jack and I are following each other down to the veterinarian dental specialist, and then he’ll go on to work. I’m up for the early a.m. appointment, take one look at that trusting old dog and start to cry. Get a grip; get a grip, as I sob into my coffee. I can’t imagine him not being here forever, but I know his time with us is becoming limited. Any reminder of this inevitable occurrence crumbles me. When it comes to this pain in the ass old dog, I have no defenses. He jumps up on the bed with me and thumps his tail as he looks trustingly at the person who his taking him to a strange place to leave him for a day. It’s only a tooth, for gosh sakes. He’ll be fine.

Once in the veti-dentinarian’s office, I remain uncharacteristically mute, because if I say anything, I’ll lose it. Jack, however, has already asked for an estimate and is complaining about the cost of it all before the fact. The veti-dent asks us to sign a paper to allow her to do an EKG at $50 more because he’s an old dog and she wants to check before she uses the anesthesia. “His heart is fine!” says Jack. I really don’t mean to paint him with such a brackish brush, but under the saddest circumstances, Jack turns to Jackal. “You must be out of your mind!” I mutter as I sign the waiver.

Out in the parking lot, we continue the conversation.

Me: I can only pray that if something happens to me, David [our son] will protect me from your purely financial decisions.

Jack: That’s ridiculous.

Me: Pull the plug. She’s old and used up anyway! A saline drip? I could make one of those with a baggy, some salt, and tap water!

Jack: Quit comparing yourself to a dog. I’ve got to go to work.

Me: Okay. Be careful.

Jack: You too. Love you.

Me: Love you too.

Later in the afternoon, Max, minus a tooth, is fine for another day, hopefully many more. The veti-dent said he needs root canals on several teeth, but we can just keep an eye on them for now. “A root canal for a damn dog?” says Jack. “No way in hell!” He’s petting Max and making sympathetic sounds. Big fake.

Open Season

The Christmas advertising season is upon us (and don’t get me wrong, I love it). However, it’s time to watch out for my favorite commercials, probably written by marketing specialists who received a hefty sum for same. So far (and I know it’s preliminary, but I’m on alert) I’ve spotted the first of many masterpieces. Scenario: A woman stares glumly at a set of burning beige candles. The voiceover opines, “Ordinary candles can look too much alike.”

By gosh, by golly, that IS a problem!

Sorry Bloggers!

I feel as though I can “relate” in old 60s terms to all the bloggers out there, at least in some strange way . . . some stranger than others. We all have something in common, if not craziness, the need to express ourselves and put it out there in the universe. It floats around to be read or never read. People may comment and, good or bad, you’ve made a connection with usually a complete stranger who has read your words and knows that you are out there—friend or foe. My apologies to those I haven’t found to read or to those whom I read regularly. Why? Because I want to do my miniscule part to connect others to their thoughts and continue the strang-o, blog-o earth communication. I am trying! However, I am technically impaired. I have clicked onto every bit of info about adding links that I can find, and as El Moe, a fellow blogger did, joined up with the Google blogger thingy, so far to my great chagrin. I don’t know what it is but I do know one thing, I can’t figure out how to attach links to my blog and it’s making me crazy!! It’s another one of those Chinese water torture things that are the final drop when people make obvious statements like, “Be thankful that you are alive.” I am thankful...most of the time. The other part of the time, I want to wear a medical necklace that says I have slapping Tourette’s. Even if I only got away with it once, it would be so great.

Don't Let the Turkeys Get You Down!

Well the past few weeks have been full of joy: misunderstandings with friends, astronomical vet bills for two aging dogs, counted-upon freelance jobs that didn’t materialize, and getting ready to have overnight guests and the entire family for the Thanksgiving feast. The holidays are upon us and I’m going as Tiny Tim. Last night I “slept” with a twelve-year-old Lab (that must have blood work then surgery on Monday for an abscessed tooth) and a pug that snores so loudly I once threw a pillow over his head so that my phone interviewee couldn’t hear him. Usually the Lab sleeps on a dog bed on the floor (or on the living room sofa) and the pug in my son’s room, but last night was musical beds. The pug insisted on sleeping with us in my son’s absence; Jack moved to my son’s room because of the pug’s snoring; Lab (Max) saw that my husband was gone and jumped up on the bed with me and the pug.

Once the pug takes its position lying on top of your legs or arms, it is not moving. Amazing how a twenty-two pound dog can feel like the Rock of Gibraltar. Careful, so as not to awaken the 110-pound Max on my other side, I twisted my legs into a configuration that isn’t accommodated by any joint in my body. He wakes up and appears restless so I get up—it’s freezing!—go to the kitchen, and hide a pain pill in a piece of cheese. As I offer it to Max in the dark, he looks at me like, “And why would I want cheese at 3 a.m.?” He reluctantly takes it, and I try to find a vacant spot in the bed for all of my parts. As I turn over, something cold and squishy hits my shoulder: it’s the uneaten cheese cube.

Pain pills for Lab: $50
Thanksgiving turkey: $25
Blood work for Lab: $200
Tooth removal for Lab: $500-$700
Seriously considering eating the cheese with the dog’s pain pill in it: Priceless.

Fish Out of Water

Jack’s company is having the holiday party at the new Atlanta aquarium. I’ve learned that the banquet room is surrounded by fish tanks. My first thought was, surely, they won’t serve fish for dinner.

Pass the Ketchup Please

I was about seven years old and in a restaurant with my parents and sisters when I noticed something about the condiment dispensers. Back in the 60s a lot of restaurants had the red and yellow ketchup and mustard dispensers. A waitress in an apron was printed on the side, but this is what made my mind squirm. She was holding a tray up in the air with one hand, and on that tray sat a mustard or ketchup dispenser with a picture of the same waitress who was holding a tray that had a picture of the same waitress… “Hey everybody, this picture goes on and on forever!” I shouted, and of course I was interrupting. “Don’t you see? This waitress picture never stops!” A brief moment of possibly concerned silence followed and then my parents continued their conversation. I couldn’t believe that this was of no interest to them whatsoever. They just slightly raised their eyebrows as if to say, “Let’s not encourage her sharing these kinds of things.” It worked. I grew up to be somewhat crazy quite independently thank you very much! Once in a while I still think about those waitresses holding that tray into infinity. I haven’t been able to find those types of condiment containers anymore…probably because they held a key to the secrets of the universe, I broke the code, and they had to be “dispensed” of immediately.

Happy Voting!

In honor of Election Day, I thought I’d share this story from quite a few years ago. Ever since I can remember, my family talked a lot about politics. We’d disagree, talk loudly over one another, and debate throughout a meal. Then we’d all get up from the table, full, and without one grudge between us. (I learned later in life that most people don’t operate this way and view political differences as worthy of ending friendships.) Anyway, my dad was always coming up with new ways to do things, and one year he decided that he’d streamline the voting process. So that we wouldn’t have to read through all of the confusing amendments at the voting booth, he numbered a sheet of paper with the number of all the amendments. Then we sat around and discussed the list. If we all agreed on voting yes or no, he marked the number with yes or no. If we didn’t all agree, he left the number blank, to be decided by each of us at the polls.

The next day Dad went to make photocopies of the sheet of paper to hand out to all of us family members. As he put the copies down on the counter to pay, a complete stranger asked him what the numbered list with yeses and nos meant. Dad explained. “Can I have one of those?” the man asked. “Sure,” Dad said, “but these are our voting choices; you might not agree with them.” To my father’s amazement, the man took the list. But that wasn’t all. As my father walked to his car the man called out to my father with one more question, “What do I vote for the ones that are blank?”

Scary.

Damn!

I applied for a proofreader’s job with an advertising agency that required overtime, weekend work onsite, and an undergraduate degree. I have a master’s degree in communications and also have written several articles for the specific corporate client for whom the proofreader would be working. The screener told me that several people had a problem with overtime and I told her that I had absolutely no problem with it and could come to work immediately. The screening person then remarked that I seemed to have more writing, detailed editing, and copy editing experience as opposed to proofreading experience. Huh? I didn’t get an interview. I’m so bewildered.

Dream Stop

I’ve read that you’re not supposed to be able to read in dreams, but maybe because I write for a “living” my brain has rewired itself. My dream life is like a separate world, very vivid, often frightening, but never boring. Printed signs and headlines actually pop up like commercials while I sleep. Last night’s billboard was, “Men and politics are twins; therefore men employ this evil doppelganger to attain their means.” I kid you not.

Not particularly insightful but weird wording, nevertheless.