Auggie has decided that he no longer needs sleep. Apparently, it is a wholly inefficient way to spend valuable play hours. He’s modeling himself after Martha Stewart, who also only needs three hours of sleep each night, and no naps during the day. Unfortunately, he is still somewhat lagging behind Ms. Stewart in the cooking department.
But enough boring you with the minutiae of our daily sleep dilemmas.
I have entirely new topics to bore you! Things like how much I’m craving all things junk food at this time. Chocolate, potato chips, pizza, ice cream, soda… Oh yeah. Have I mentioned how much I totally did not miss this particular time of the month for the 20 months I was without?
Oh! Last night I had a great time, walking down memory lane. You see, it’s all thanks to Fly Lady that our house is getting a little neater each and every day. I’ll have to talk about her some other time, because I don’t want to get too sidetracked from this particular story.
Anyway, I was working on decluttering the office, when I came across a collection of old journals. Now, in case you didn’t know this about me, I love journals. Especially new ones. In fact, I love new journals way more than journaling itself. Journaling is a great way for me to work through things, but, when it comes down to it, I’d much rather read a book at night than write out my neuroses about being overweight for the millionth time.
The most entertaining journal was from my freshman year of college. Here are a few statistics:
Number of times I say I’m in love “for real”Â: 4
Number of silly crushes recounted: at least 6
Number of crushes on gay men: 2
Number of times I say “I’m drunk”Â: too many to count
Number of times I talk about my classes: 0
Number of months included in said journal: 11
Average length of “real love”Â: 2.75 months
I was cracking up at the fact that seemingly every time I turned the page, I was completely in love with another man. Completely, torturously in love. Often unrequitedly in love. ‘Why does this always happen to me?’ I wailed! Uh, maybe because you fall in love with every other guy you see?
Ah, well, I was young and impetuous. And, hey, only one of the guys I dated was actually a closeted homosexual (not counted in the “crushes on gay men” category either). He’s still a good friend too. One who I hope we can see while we’re in Chicago next month.
I happily reported to Tim that there were no tortured journal entries about him, when I looked back on my senior year journals. Mostly because I have never been tortured during my time with him, just sad when he lived in St. Louis while I was still in Columbia, but also because I’m sure that I didn’t have time to even write it down if I was tortured. I had, like, 4 jobs my senior year!