Since Thursday night, I have been unable to fall asleep before 2:00 AM.
This is a problem, because you can't just quit life because you aren't sleeping. People still expect you to show up at work, Orchestra concerts (maybe that's just me), and other social events. They also expect you to wear grown-up clothes instead of a hoodie and jeans, pajamas, or a giant fluffy robe.
You also have to leave your electric blanket at your house, because as of this moment, I don't think they make battery operated electric blankets, and, even if they did, you can't very well wear a blanket around everywhere you go, either.
You also have to deal with the regular trials of life without falling apart, but when you aren't sleeping, you can't really manage that.
Grandpa fell last week. He lives on his own, because he is stubborn, so no one knew he fell until my aunt couldn't reach him the next morning. Fortunately, he hadn't broken any bones or had a heart attack or stroke, but now he's dealing with all kinds of problems relating to the fall, and other problems related to being 90. He is in the hospital's rehab unit now, and will likely be there for the next 10 days. After that, we'll figure out what the next step will be.
Normally, I would be upset. I AM upset. I would want to be there with him as much as I do right now. I would be worried about Grandpa, focused on his care and the various plans we'll have to make to help him out. I would likely be just as worried. Worried, but rested. And rested makes a huge difference with how I cope with all aspects of life.
Unfortunately (and embarrassingly) the combination of sleeplessness and emotion has made me a complete basket case in the evenings. I am train wreck Laura, and the waterworks start at about 10:00 PM. After that, I am of no use to anyone, including myself, because I can't think at all. I am mostly brain dead, and the only function my brain has left is making tears happen. Which means when I finally DO get to see Grandpa, it will be well before 10:00...so I can see him when I am a person instead of a soggy tissue.
No one needs to see a used Kleenex in human form.
Tonight I am going to be in bed at 10:00. I am going to make sleep happen, so I can be helpful to my family. If The Brother has to use a hammer to knock me unconscious, that is what will happen--he has been gracious enough to offer his help. We have several hammers, but I am opting for a rubber mallet, because it looks more like what the characters of Looney Tunes would use.
In the meantime, I will drink lots of tea and coffee.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Hot Glue
Last night Jennifer and I had to make some signs, which led to a Dairy Queen trip for Moolattes and then a trip to Walmart for supplies. Then we went to the library, where the die-cut machine lives. We made letters. Jennifer glued the letters together to make them seem embossed. And then came the hot glue.
I am not grown up enough to use hot glue, apparently. Either that, or I lack the necessary coordination, because my coworkers have refused to let me use hot glue ever since my first summer at the library, when I dribbled hot glue down my thumb one evening and then dropped a quarter-sized dollop on my thigh the next. Both incidents led to huge blisters (although the one on my leg wasn't noticeable through pants) and my hot glue privileges were taken away.
I can use low-heat glue guns, but still lack expertise. It is an art, hot gluing. Not everyone can manage it, and I certainly can't.
So last night, one of our letters had the layers separated, and I grabbed at the layer that was falling, leading to my burning both index fingers and both thumbs, then dropping my letter on top of our poster board, leading to me scraping off the hot glue and then trying to ineffectually conceal the scrapes with white-out.
I also had to peel chunks of hot glue off my fingers, which led me to be relieved that 1. I am done knitting the three baby sweaters I needed to knit this month and 2. I have knitting calluses on my index fingers that may just have prevented blistering.
Jennifer then wrote a parody of Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" with new lyrics that were all about me burning myself with hot glue. It was a masterpiece. Here's a sample, "There were nights of endless blisters, it was more than any burn before..."
Genius.
Maybe if we cajole Jennifer, she can actually rewrite the WHOLE song, and then we can make it the theme song of this blog, because blogs clearly need theme songs now for some reason.
What do you think, Jen? Should the burn song be the theme, or should it be this one?
That's how serious we are around here.*
*Hint: We are not serious at all. Also, there is only one of me, so there's that, too.
I am not grown up enough to use hot glue, apparently. Either that, or I lack the necessary coordination, because my coworkers have refused to let me use hot glue ever since my first summer at the library, when I dribbled hot glue down my thumb one evening and then dropped a quarter-sized dollop on my thigh the next. Both incidents led to huge blisters (although the one on my leg wasn't noticeable through pants) and my hot glue privileges were taken away.
I can use low-heat glue guns, but still lack expertise. It is an art, hot gluing. Not everyone can manage it, and I certainly can't.
So last night, one of our letters had the layers separated, and I grabbed at the layer that was falling, leading to my burning both index fingers and both thumbs, then dropping my letter on top of our poster board, leading to me scraping off the hot glue and then trying to ineffectually conceal the scrapes with white-out.
I also had to peel chunks of hot glue off my fingers, which led me to be relieved that 1. I am done knitting the three baby sweaters I needed to knit this month and 2. I have knitting calluses on my index fingers that may just have prevented blistering.
Jennifer then wrote a parody of Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" with new lyrics that were all about me burning myself with hot glue. It was a masterpiece. Here's a sample, "There were nights of endless blisters, it was more than any burn before..."
Genius.
Maybe if we cajole Jennifer, she can actually rewrite the WHOLE song, and then we can make it the theme song of this blog, because blogs clearly need theme songs now for some reason.
What do you think, Jen? Should the burn song be the theme, or should it be this one?
That's how serious we are around here.*
*Hint: We are not serious at all. Also, there is only one of me, so there's that, too.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Another Craft Project Ends in Tears
I tried to spray paint the baskets on Sunday.
By the end of it, I was covered in spray paint, so was the tarp, so was almost every part of my work space--except for the baskets.
Something was freaky about that spray paint can. It didn't so much want to spray. Mostly, it wanted to drip and expose my fingers to a dangerous-yet-unidentified substance that was icy cold. It was probably deadly. I'm still waiting for my fingers to shatter.
I sprayed, failed, gave up, and then spent another hour exposing myself to more hazardous chemicals as I attempted to remove the spray paint from my skin.
And then I looked at the baskets and realized the spray paint was not sticking to the surface, even though the baskets had been previously painted. And the spray paint said it would stick to painted surfaces.
It stuck a little. A bit. But not enough for me to be done in one coat, and realizing that made me very angry for some reason, so I sloshed more mineral spirits on my hands, finished cleaning up, and went inside. And cried, because I was angry, so, you know, angry crying.
I then decided to name my memoir: "Another Craft Project Ends in Tears." I figured it would be a good name, as it is both descriptive and accurate.
Tonight I have to stop by Walmart for more paint (because my can really WAS faulty, I looked it up. It was a relief finding out it wasn't just me) and try again. .I think I will beg help from Dad, since he can spray paint well, probably an indicator of some kind of misspent youth.
It is a pity Walmart does not sell dignity, but that is more of a Target thing.
By the end of it, I was covered in spray paint, so was the tarp, so was almost every part of my work space--except for the baskets.
Something was freaky about that spray paint can. It didn't so much want to spray. Mostly, it wanted to drip and expose my fingers to a dangerous-yet-unidentified substance that was icy cold. It was probably deadly. I'm still waiting for my fingers to shatter.
I sprayed, failed, gave up, and then spent another hour exposing myself to more hazardous chemicals as I attempted to remove the spray paint from my skin.
And then I looked at the baskets and realized the spray paint was not sticking to the surface, even though the baskets had been previously painted. And the spray paint said it would stick to painted surfaces.
It stuck a little. A bit. But not enough for me to be done in one coat, and realizing that made me very angry for some reason, so I sloshed more mineral spirits on my hands, finished cleaning up, and went inside. And cried, because I was angry, so, you know, angry crying.
I then decided to name my memoir: "Another Craft Project Ends in Tears." I figured it would be a good name, as it is both descriptive and accurate.
Tonight I have to stop by Walmart for more paint (because my can really WAS faulty, I looked it up. It was a relief finding out it wasn't just me) and try again. .I think I will beg help from Dad, since he can spray paint well, probably an indicator of some kind of misspent youth.
It is a pity Walmart does not sell dignity, but that is more of a Target thing.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Friday
I bought spray paint for the wire baskets. It is a pretty pale blue/green. Almost mint. I had to settle for a bit blue-er, because they did not have mint.
I'm over it.
The baskets are sitting in my room. The spray paint is inside them.
Nothing has happened to either baskets or spray paint since Monday, when I bought the paint.
I'm over that, too.
In the meantime, I went to see The Moody Blues and fell down a flight of stairs in front of hundreds of people.
I'm over that.
I also organized tons of craft supplies into three boxes. This leads to the following conclusions:
1. I have too many craft supplies.
2. I don't have enough of the craft supplies I need.
3. I need a wider bed to accommodate all the stuff I want to store underneath it.
The weekend goals include spray painting the baskets, mounting them on the closet doors, and working on the template for my headboard (which hit a snag when I could no longer hold up my head without a foam strangulation device holding it up for me).
When I have the headboard template made up, if I am happy with it, I will start calling around places to find someone with a jigsaw willing to help me out. I also want another piece of wood cut down to fit inside my closet on top of a shelving unit Mum bought for me a few birthdays ago. The shelving unit is actually a little narrower than it should be for the space, so if I put things on top of it, the fall down between the shelves and the wall into a space big enough for things to fall but too small for me to use my hands to retrieve said things.
Ever notice how life gives us things that are unnecessarily complicated?
I'm over it.
The baskets are sitting in my room. The spray paint is inside them.
Nothing has happened to either baskets or spray paint since Monday, when I bought the paint.
I'm over that, too.
In the meantime, I went to see The Moody Blues and fell down a flight of stairs in front of hundreds of people.
I'm over that.
I also organized tons of craft supplies into three boxes. This leads to the following conclusions:
1. I have too many craft supplies.
2. I don't have enough of the craft supplies I need.
3. I need a wider bed to accommodate all the stuff I want to store underneath it.
The weekend goals include spray painting the baskets, mounting them on the closet doors, and working on the template for my headboard (which hit a snag when I could no longer hold up my head without a foam strangulation device holding it up for me).
When I have the headboard template made up, if I am happy with it, I will start calling around places to find someone with a jigsaw willing to help me out. I also want another piece of wood cut down to fit inside my closet on top of a shelving unit Mum bought for me a few birthdays ago. The shelving unit is actually a little narrower than it should be for the space, so if I put things on top of it, the fall down between the shelves and the wall into a space big enough for things to fall but too small for me to use my hands to retrieve said things.
Ever notice how life gives us things that are unnecessarily complicated?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)