The Big Move or: Somebody Tell Me Why We Have So Many Freakin' Band-Aids!
Warning! Warning!! Extreme sleep deprivation has inspired this post. It may be the longest, most "ramblingest" post in history. Proceed at your own risk. Also - on public computer; spell check is not working. At this point I promise nothing in terms of spelling or grammatical accuracy. I will not be responsible if your eyes fall out of your head because my writing is so tedious.
For those of you still reading, this weekend was the big move. We're still not "done" but our first night in the new place was Saturday. I'm sitting here in my new public library because our computer is not set up, and (although we were promised it would be,) our phone isn't hooked up either.
Normally, I don't like whining about exhaustion or sleep deprivation. After all, I don't have a baby (that I know of.) I have had so many friends tell me that you think you've been tired in your life until you have an infant in your house and then you really know what tired is. As a woman who truly loves (and needs!) a solid eight hours - preferably nine - I have always empathized with tales of "EXTREME SLEEP DEPRIVATION!"
But - I don't know if it's the new place or the stress of moving, but I haven't gotten decent sleep since Thursday night. Friday night was our last night in our place and I was wide. awake. I actually didn't feel too badly about it and kept telling myself, "If it's your last night in this place, at least you're enjoying it, right?" I read The Memory Keeper's Daughter until 5:30 a.m. and then tried to go to sleep. Mr. J. got up at 5:50 a.m. and then I think I dozed off around 6:00-ish. I was awoken around 8:20 a.m. by the sound of Minnie going nuts and Mr. J. and his brother T, moving large pieces of furniture out the door. And that started the day. Remind me to tell you in another post about the bet I "won", but because of it, I spent the "big" move at a spa. Yeah, that's right, baby! Moving is for suckers!! From 10:30 a.m. until 2:30 p.m., I had a blissful hour-long massage, eyebrow wax (okay, that's not really pampering but yikes! We've talked about this and when I miss a few eyebrow waxes, I really do start to resemble Bert from Sesame Street.) And then, spa manicure and pedicure. And guess what? No one tried to sell me any stupid products! So nice.
However, all good things come to an end and I spent the rest of the day trying to clean our new place. (This was clearly poor planning on my part. I should have cleaned in the morning - duh! - and then gone to the spa in the afternoon. Duh, duh, duh! And I think my students can be idiots?) The previous tenants were evicted, they were stealing gas, and obviously? They were foul, disgusting slobs. At one point, I simply lost my mind and started swabbing down the whole place with alcohol. Anything either one of us would ever touch with any part of our bodies? Scrubbed down with an alcohol-soaked cotton pad. Light switches? Check. Every single one. Door knobs? Check. And ditto. Yet, sometimes, because my office is complete chaos, some people are actually surprised when I tell them I'm a Virgo. If you don't want to go to the link, here's the short version: ". . . sometimes as a somewhat older woman, intelligent but rather pedantic and spinsterish. The latter impression is sometimes confirmed by the Virgoan preciseness, refinement, fastidious love of cleanliness, hygiene and good order, conventionality and aristocratic attitude of reserve. They are usually observant, shrewd, critically inclined, judicious, patient, practical supporters of the status quo, and tend toward conservatism in all departments of life. On the surface they are emotionally cold, and sometimes this goes deeper, for their habit of suppressing their natural kindness may in the end cause it to atrophy . . ." Charming, yes? I'll bet you just said out loud, "Boy, that Mr. J. is one hell of a lucky guy!"
I could go on and on about what I did on Saturday night, but let us just say that in a fit of sleeplessness and anxiety, after 20 minutes of attempting sleep, at approximately 12:15 a.m., I got up, and - in my pajamas, no less - drove the half-hour to the "old place" and started packing up all the "little" crap left - cuz remember? I was excused from the "big" move. (I figured since I wasn't sleeping anyway, and couldn't do anything in our new place that wouldn't wake our new neighbors or irritate the crap out of Mr. J., and wandering aimlessly around a room full of boxes held little appeal, why the heck not accomplish something?) Hence, the question about Band-Aids and if I ever find the stupid digital camera somewhere, I will post a picture of how many boxes of Band-Aids we have. And why??? This I do not know. Because although I am extremely clumsy and have been known to accidentally (of course - like anyone would on purpose!) poke myself in the eye, I don't often use Band-Aids. And yet? We have boxes. Anti-biotic Band-Aids. Clear. Flexible. Large. Small. Even a box of Band-Aids printed with that Blues Clues dog whose name escapes me. Boxes. Who in the hell keeps buying them? I managed about 3 hours of sleep (on the floor with some yet-to-be-moved blankets and pillows) and then met a friend for breakfast. There's more, perhaps for another time, but by the end of the day, I was still wired, anxious, starving and now tripping down stairs and beginning to walk into walls. Last night, Mr. J. and I went to pick up the pizza we had ordered. The ordering a pizza process in and of itself was a whole entire post. Like an episode of The Twilight Zone.
As we were driving to get the pizza, I looked to my left and saw a beautiful fireworks display low in the sky- red and blue and I thought, "Fireworks! I wonder what they're celebrating." I was about to tell Mr. J. to look at the fireworks when I stopped myself. There were no fireworks. And what in the hell would merit fireworks in the suburbs at 9:30 on a Sunday night on September 17th? It was a police car with its lights on. Great. So now I'm so sleep-deprived I'm hallucinating. Still not much sleep last night - 3:30 a.m. to about 8:30. Five hours might be enough for some folks, but certainly not for me. We had to be at the title place at 9:00 today to sign the papers. Mr. J. was so sympathic. "Just do your best to get dressed. It won't take very long and maybe you can come back here and get some sleep." I had to take a shower because I was so disgusting. Just a quick one - didn't wash my hair - and as I was putting on my robe, post-shower I realized with a feeling of complete and utter terror that I had just, for the first time EVER IN MY LIFE taken a shower WITH MY GLASSES ON.
For those of you still reading, this weekend was the big move. We're still not "done" but our first night in the new place was Saturday. I'm sitting here in my new public library because our computer is not set up, and (although we were promised it would be,) our phone isn't hooked up either.
Normally, I don't like whining about exhaustion or sleep deprivation. After all, I don't have a baby (that I know of.) I have had so many friends tell me that you think you've been tired in your life until you have an infant in your house and then you really know what tired is. As a woman who truly loves (and needs!) a solid eight hours - preferably nine - I have always empathized with tales of "EXTREME SLEEP DEPRIVATION!"
But - I don't know if it's the new place or the stress of moving, but I haven't gotten decent sleep since Thursday night. Friday night was our last night in our place and I was wide. awake. I actually didn't feel too badly about it and kept telling myself, "If it's your last night in this place, at least you're enjoying it, right?" I read The Memory Keeper's Daughter until 5:30 a.m. and then tried to go to sleep. Mr. J. got up at 5:50 a.m. and then I think I dozed off around 6:00-ish. I was awoken around 8:20 a.m. by the sound of Minnie going nuts and Mr. J. and his brother T, moving large pieces of furniture out the door. And that started the day. Remind me to tell you in another post about the bet I "won", but because of it, I spent the "big" move at a spa. Yeah, that's right, baby! Moving is for suckers!! From 10:30 a.m. until 2:30 p.m., I had a blissful hour-long massage, eyebrow wax (okay, that's not really pampering but yikes! We've talked about this and when I miss a few eyebrow waxes, I really do start to resemble Bert from Sesame Street.) And then, spa manicure and pedicure. And guess what? No one tried to sell me any stupid products! So nice.
However, all good things come to an end and I spent the rest of the day trying to clean our new place. (This was clearly poor planning on my part. I should have cleaned in the morning - duh! - and then gone to the spa in the afternoon. Duh, duh, duh! And I think my students can be idiots?) The previous tenants were evicted, they were stealing gas, and obviously? They were foul, disgusting slobs. At one point, I simply lost my mind and started swabbing down the whole place with alcohol. Anything either one of us would ever touch with any part of our bodies? Scrubbed down with an alcohol-soaked cotton pad. Light switches? Check. Every single one. Door knobs? Check. And ditto. Yet, sometimes, because my office is complete chaos, some people are actually surprised when I tell them I'm a Virgo. If you don't want to go to the link, here's the short version: ". . . sometimes as a somewhat older woman, intelligent but rather pedantic and spinsterish. The latter impression is sometimes confirmed by the Virgoan preciseness, refinement, fastidious love of cleanliness, hygiene and good order, conventionality and aristocratic attitude of reserve. They are usually observant, shrewd, critically inclined, judicious, patient, practical supporters of the status quo, and tend toward conservatism in all departments of life. On the surface they are emotionally cold, and sometimes this goes deeper, for their habit of suppressing their natural kindness may in the end cause it to atrophy . . ." Charming, yes? I'll bet you just said out loud, "Boy, that Mr. J. is one hell of a lucky guy!"
I could go on and on about what I did on Saturday night, but let us just say that in a fit of sleeplessness and anxiety, after 20 minutes of attempting sleep, at approximately 12:15 a.m., I got up, and - in my pajamas, no less - drove the half-hour to the "old place" and started packing up all the "little" crap left - cuz remember? I was excused from the "big" move. (I figured since I wasn't sleeping anyway, and couldn't do anything in our new place that wouldn't wake our new neighbors or irritate the crap out of Mr. J., and wandering aimlessly around a room full of boxes held little appeal, why the heck not accomplish something?) Hence, the question about Band-Aids and if I ever find the stupid digital camera somewhere, I will post a picture of how many boxes of Band-Aids we have. And why??? This I do not know. Because although I am extremely clumsy and have been known to accidentally (of course - like anyone would on purpose!) poke myself in the eye, I don't often use Band-Aids. And yet? We have boxes. Anti-biotic Band-Aids. Clear. Flexible. Large. Small. Even a box of Band-Aids printed with that Blues Clues dog whose name escapes me. Boxes. Who in the hell keeps buying them? I managed about 3 hours of sleep (on the floor with some yet-to-be-moved blankets and pillows) and then met a friend for breakfast. There's more, perhaps for another time, but by the end of the day, I was still wired, anxious, starving and now tripping down stairs and beginning to walk into walls. Last night, Mr. J. and I went to pick up the pizza we had ordered. The ordering a pizza process in and of itself was a whole entire post. Like an episode of The Twilight Zone.
As we were driving to get the pizza, I looked to my left and saw a beautiful fireworks display low in the sky- red and blue and I thought, "Fireworks! I wonder what they're celebrating." I was about to tell Mr. J. to look at the fireworks when I stopped myself. There were no fireworks. And what in the hell would merit fireworks in the suburbs at 9:30 on a Sunday night on September 17th? It was a police car with its lights on. Great. So now I'm so sleep-deprived I'm hallucinating. Still not much sleep last night - 3:30 a.m. to about 8:30. Five hours might be enough for some folks, but certainly not for me. We had to be at the title place at 9:00 today to sign the papers. Mr. J. was so sympathic. "Just do your best to get dressed. It won't take very long and maybe you can come back here and get some sleep." I had to take a shower because I was so disgusting. Just a quick one - didn't wash my hair - and as I was putting on my robe, post-shower I realized with a feeling of complete and utter terror that I had just, for the first time EVER IN MY LIFE taken a shower WITH MY GLASSES ON.
Labels: Baby's First Breakdown
posted by Teacher lady | 9:53 AM
7 Comments:
Good job showering with your glasses on. I think you need to go operate heavy machinery now, just for kicks.
Oh my.
I am also a Virgo & can COMPLETELY & TOTALLY empathize. I hate the confusion & disorganization of moving. Funny that my most fervent wish right now is to move within the next few months. Hope that things get straightened around for you soon!
Wow. It's obvious you're sleep-deprived. The name of the dog from Blue's Clues? The one that escapes you? The dog's name is BLUE. Hence the show being called "Blue's Clues."
You definitely need a nap. And perhaps a follow-up massage. I feel your pain, though -- I despise moving.
Sounds like you need a do-over at the spa, missy! I've never heard of anyone taking a shower with their glasses on, but my sister's ex-boyfriend used to sleep in his glasses. That was weird-looking. But then again, he is very weird himself.
So the students are going to be getting away with murder this week, no? If you decide to go postal in class, would you consider liveblogging it, or at least uploading the newscast onto youtube, so we can see? Because if you go postal, really, anonymity is out the window anyhow.
Am. bi. en. to you!
Wow, you really do need some sleep. I think Band-Aids are one of those items you can never remember if you have when you're at the store, so you buy some more. Then you put them away and (because you don't use them every day) forget about them. It's a vicious cycle, really.
Send any and all excess bandaids to my house, please!
You see, I *buy* boxes of bandaids, and put them in the medicine cabinet. The next time there's a bleeding child or I get a hangnail or something? There is *one lone wrong-sized bandaid* hanging out in the box.
I think my children eat them, use them for tape, or other games I just really don't want to know about, thankyouverymuch.
But the end result? We never have bandaids at my house. Ever.
We LIVE on band-aids at my house - we have a three year old. Everything is a "boo boo" and requires a band-aid and "cream" (Neosporin). I buy it all in bulk.
I can tell you're sleep deprived - the name of the dog on Blue's Clues? That would be, uh, BLUE. Hence the name of the show!
Get some sleep! :-)
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