I got 3 hours sleep last night. Or 4. I know I saw the clock at 1:37 am and got up promptly at 5:30 am. I was having weird dreams about Captain Hawkeye Pearce so I don’t think those count as REM sleep.
I am here at the airport awaiting my flight. Emile and I left Huntsville at 6 am so I could get to a meeting in Toronto at 9 am. I do not like seeing that side of dawn.
There is a funny detached feeling I get when I have had such little sleep. It allows me to function despite my inability to remember basic facts like the day or what gate I am leaving from. But I can sit and read, do a crossword, and be calm despite my plane being a bit delayed. I have a slight glaze to my eye and conversations are a bit choppy. I am pretty agreeable too – if the Pita guy asks me if I want a smoothie combo with my pita, I agree. Problem is then I can’t make a decision and order something out of the ordinary. Like a immune booster which featured echinechia, bee pollen and other strange things. ( I already had a Perrier in hand too.)
If I have had only 6 hours sleep watch out. I am crabby, cannot concentrate, and wish desperately for a bed. The magical properties that keep me functioning with 3 hours are not applied in this case. My food choices must be from the sin food groups – bad fat, sugar or refined carbohydrates. I eat and grumble, fall asleep drooling, and am too tired to do anything.
It’s 5 am Vancouver time now because I went to bed at 8 pm. After the immediate tasks at hand were completed my magical “3 hours only” powers begin to dissipate. I collapse instantly.
February 21 Extra-ordinary Event: Keeping awake to 8 pm- it must have been the bee pollen.
Follow-up from February 17th:
Me: Any yen for anything for dinner?
Emile: Sounds Great!
So last night we had pancakes for dinner. And bacon and maple syrup. No leftover squash – everyone was too afraid to heat it up.
February 18th, 2012
Being unemployed as I am, I do all the laundry. I do all the laundry even if the situation was reversed. That is good for our relationship – it saves Emile from being henpecked to death as I remind him yet again to lay my black turtleneck flat to dry. I never touch the litter box or take out the garbage or recycling. I do the grocery shopping, Emile cuts the lawn, we share the cleaning (although he is better at it than me) and I handle all the money (carefully siphoning funds off for facials).
But there are rules for the laundry.
1. I don’t check pockets. You left in there, you’ll deal with it being washed.
2. Underwear and undershirts get folded the way they went into the wash. If it went in the wash inside out, that is how it is delivered to your room.
3. If a sock is missing its mate it goes to your room regardless. Singles gather in your sock drawer not in the laundry room.
4. Laundry is piled in the order of it being folding. I do not categorize items when they come out of the dryer.
5. Laundry is dropped in your room and you are responsible for putting it away.
Yes, it is no picnic getting your laundry done around here! These rules usually result in Emile having up to 3 piles floating around invariably have at least one single sock and most of his shirts inside out. So, now and then, he has the big task of putting everything away.
I don’t know why, but I love laying in bed watching Emile put laundry away. He is his usual fastidious self in some aspects (the careful hanging of his shirts on his coloured coordinated hangers) and “stuff it in” with socks and underwear. I guess I like the normalcy or distinctly NOT extra-ordinariness of it. We talk about this and that, laughing about unfunny things and generally appreciate each other as Emile accomplishes his task. It occurred to me tonight that most people do not thank their laundry people very much. But my husband does. Every time he is putting it away or sees me lugging it around, he thanks me.
February 18th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary Event: Realizing that sometimes the most mundane moments are the most Extra-Ordinary and that not everyone gets thanked consistently for clean laundry. I’m just lucky.
Oh leftovers, my friends.
When I was a kid, mom would have these “Eat Out the Fridge” nights. That was when she didn’t want to cook anything else the leftovers in the fridge would go bad. She would pull everything out, and announce that everyone should claim what they want. I suspect while I am in Cranbrook later this month, we again will have “Eat Out the Fridge: The New Generation” nights. It makes it sound like we had one of those scary fridges where you’d find tossed around mismatched Tupperware with rotting food floating around. It was not like that – at all. In fact imagine the worst fridge in the world and then think exactly opposite of that. For those of you who know me – um, I guess that would be all of you – you think I am pretty organized, focused, a planner. In fact, I would dare say some of you would say I am one of the most organized and planned ahead people you know. However, that would be those of you that do not know my mother. Or for that matter, my brother. In fact, I am considered something of a black sheep of the family due to my lack of care, consideration, organization, and planning. It boggles the mind, doesn’t it?
Mom would also have “Pancake Nights” for us when we were kids. For those of you who know the story, this is where the famous “OTST” or “One Time Special Treat” came from when I asked Mom if we could drink syrup for dinner instead of milk with our pancakes. She doesn’t even remember me asking that, but I worked up my strategy for that request for MINUTES when I was a kid. She probably was fighting urge to make us Beef Stroganoff or something, but my brother and I looked forward to those nights. Pancakes for Dinner. Does it get any better?
Back on track.
So, today, thanks to both Nature (DNA) and Nurture (organization central home) I did what my I was compelled to do. Sort through the fridge to toss any withering veggies, freeze the old strawberries, and review the leftovers to consider what to have for dinner tonight. A couple of nights ago, I roasted Acorn Squash and chopped pecans and then tossed them in locally produced organic Maple Syrup. It was so good. Yum. So, once the sorting and cleaning was done, I decided to have said squash for lunch. I tossed half in a bowl and threw it into the microwave, put the rest of it in the fridge for Emile to enjoy. I was leaning against the counter when I started to smell something burning. What is that!? I opened the microwave and found black smoke swirling around. Huh? Acorn Squash, Pecans and maple syrup? Burning after 25 seconds in the microwave?
February 17th, Extra-Ordinary Event: Starting my squash leftovers on fire but eating them anyways despite being smokey and lukewarm.