From the September 21, 1897 edition of the New York Sun (not to be confused with the current NYS, whose editorial board is utter crap, versus the paper that previously competed with the New York Times):
We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
Dear Editor—
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon
115 West Ninety Fifth Street
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.
We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
Merry Christmas to you and yours. Watch out for the icy patch!!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
I am an old lady. OR a reasonable human being.
So.
I don't usually talk about where I live on the blog cause it's soooooorta creepy that you don't know me but could pinpoint my location, right? But things have gone far enough, and so now it's time to get a little personal.
I live in AdMo. Near Stroga, Adams Mill, Starbucks, gas station area. Got it?
Ok. So the first place - Stroga - is, if you're unfamiliar, a studio where they combine strength training + yoga. I'm sure it's lovely, although I still can't do yoga without getting the giggles. But my two friends who go think it's great, and I've no problem with them encouraging healthy lifestyles.
HOWEVER.
On Friday and Saturday nights, Stroga turns down the lights and turns up the music as it is taken over by Grey Goose vodka, who dubs this hitherto quiet yoga studio "The Grey Goose Mansion." And for weeks now - seriously. WEEKS - I have not been able to sleep until 4am because they won't turn the fucking music down. And then I'm woken up at 6am as someone leaving inevitably is peeing/vomiting/getting into a fight over the one cab roaring down Calvert at that point in time.
It. Is NOT. OK.
The first weekend it became a problem was in October. I had been on a whirlwind one day trip to New York, had gotten approximately two hours of sleep the night before, and needed to be up in the morning for brunch with my parents. I snuggled into my pillows that night, ever so grateful that I can afford a bed and blankets and happiness, until the thump thump thump of bass shook me out of said warm bed, blankets and pillows.
Then I was grateful for 311.
Cause hells to the yes I called the police. First I called at 2am, and then felt guilty. I mean, I'm sure I've been loud that late at night. I recall a specific snowball fight with Diane many moons ago at 4am down Ave A in the city, screaming and laughing and being generally obnoxious. I'm sure we woke someone up that night (maybe. I mean, it IS the city that never sleeps) and so whatever, I held my tongue.
Er, dialing finger.
But when it was 3am and I still hadn't slept despite serious sleep deprivation, some lulling music AND two glasses of wine, I called back. And I was firm, but calm, and I said that I could not be blamed for throwing shit across the street at the attendees if it came to that.
It didn't, in case you were wondering.
But it hasn't gotten better. Tonight I am twittacking them because honestly, I don't know what the fuck else to do. Grey Goose hasn't listened to entreaties from the neighborhood, Stroga seems to be using a caterers license without serving any food, and while MPD seems sympathetic (and Jim Graham's office seems deaf unless a reporter is around), THEY ARE STILL FUCKING INVADING MY APARTMENT.
My windows are closed by the way. And I have some Cee Lo on here.
They do over there too in case you were wondering. Because I can hear it. Despite the water of my sink, the "I see you driving 'round town with the girl I loooooooove," and the multiple panes of glass, not to mention one of the busiest streets in DC (and its lovely urban song) being between me and the fucking Grey Goose Mansion, I can hear Gnarls Barkley singing "does that make me craaaaazy?"
So... does it?
Does it make me crazy to want some peace and quiet? I know its a little early tonight, but I can guarantee you it will go on for hours. And calling 311, protesting to the people who regulate permits, my councilman, and anyone who will meet my bleary eyed ass for brunch on a weekend morning, DOES NOTHING. NOTHING. NOTHING.
Ugh.
I know I live in Adams Morgan, and it's a little fratastic. I know I should expect busy loud Fridays and Saturdays. But I live in the residential part. Yes, there is a bar but it's a QUIET one on Fri-Sat (Monday night football can get bad, but at least there isn't bass). I live across the street from a fucking YOGA studio.
So why can't I sleep, huh???
I swear, the only thing I have left to say is, quoth Cee Lo nevermore (false): Hey Grey Goose Mansion? "Fuuuuuuuck yooooooooou." I'm drinking Absolut from here on out.
I don't usually talk about where I live on the blog cause it's soooooorta creepy that you don't know me but could pinpoint my location, right? But things have gone far enough, and so now it's time to get a little personal.
I live in AdMo. Near Stroga, Adams Mill, Starbucks, gas station area. Got it?
Ok. So the first place - Stroga - is, if you're unfamiliar, a studio where they combine strength training + yoga. I'm sure it's lovely, although I still can't do yoga without getting the giggles. But my two friends who go think it's great, and I've no problem with them encouraging healthy lifestyles.
HOWEVER.
On Friday and Saturday nights, Stroga turns down the lights and turns up the music as it is taken over by Grey Goose vodka, who dubs this hitherto quiet yoga studio "The Grey Goose Mansion." And for weeks now - seriously. WEEKS - I have not been able to sleep until 4am because they won't turn the fucking music down. And then I'm woken up at 6am as someone leaving inevitably is peeing/vomiting/getting into a fight over the one cab roaring down Calvert at that point in time.
It. Is NOT. OK.
The first weekend it became a problem was in October. I had been on a whirlwind one day trip to New York, had gotten approximately two hours of sleep the night before, and needed to be up in the morning for brunch with my parents. I snuggled into my pillows that night, ever so grateful that I can afford a bed and blankets and happiness, until the thump thump thump of bass shook me out of said warm bed, blankets and pillows.
Then I was grateful for 311.
Cause hells to the yes I called the police. First I called at 2am, and then felt guilty. I mean, I'm sure I've been loud that late at night. I recall a specific snowball fight with Diane many moons ago at 4am down Ave A in the city, screaming and laughing and being generally obnoxious. I'm sure we woke someone up that night (maybe. I mean, it IS the city that never sleeps) and so whatever, I held my tongue.
Er, dialing finger.
But when it was 3am and I still hadn't slept despite serious sleep deprivation, some lulling music AND two glasses of wine, I called back. And I was firm, but calm, and I said that I could not be blamed for throwing shit across the street at the attendees if it came to that.
It didn't, in case you were wondering.
But it hasn't gotten better. Tonight I am twittacking them because honestly, I don't know what the fuck else to do. Grey Goose hasn't listened to entreaties from the neighborhood, Stroga seems to be using a caterers license without serving any food, and while MPD seems sympathetic (and Jim Graham's office seems deaf unless a reporter is around), THEY ARE STILL FUCKING INVADING MY APARTMENT.
My windows are closed by the way. And I have some Cee Lo on here.
They do over there too in case you were wondering. Because I can hear it. Despite the water of my sink, the "I see you driving 'round town with the girl I loooooooove," and the multiple panes of glass, not to mention one of the busiest streets in DC (and its lovely urban song) being between me and the fucking Grey Goose Mansion, I can hear Gnarls Barkley singing "does that make me craaaaazy?"
So... does it?
Does it make me crazy to want some peace and quiet? I know its a little early tonight, but I can guarantee you it will go on for hours. And calling 311, protesting to the people who regulate permits, my councilman, and anyone who will meet my bleary eyed ass for brunch on a weekend morning, DOES NOTHING. NOTHING. NOTHING.
Ugh.
I know I live in Adams Morgan, and it's a little fratastic. I know I should expect busy loud Fridays and Saturdays. But I live in the residential part. Yes, there is a bar but it's a QUIET one on Fri-Sat (Monday night football can get bad, but at least there isn't bass). I live across the street from a fucking YOGA studio.
So why can't I sleep, huh???
I swear, the only thing I have left to say is, quoth Cee Lo nevermore (false): Hey Grey Goose Mansion? "Fuuuuuuuck yooooooooou." I'm drinking Absolut from here on out.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Boyfriend-for-a-Day
So.
My insane year of 11 weddings (yup. Another one invited me this weekend) is kicking off next weekend in New Jersey, at the wedding of a friend from high school I have remained in OK contact throughout the years. She does not have a name on the blog, and she doesn't really merit one, but we were definitely very close about 10 years ago, so when I was invited, I said yes.
Plus one.
Because the thing is, this friend is part of the group that - my junior and senior year of high school - hung out all the time. It was three girls and four boys, of which the girls were dating 3 of the boys at various points in time, and my partner was - you guessed it! - HS Ex.
And there is a chance that he will be there next week.
Since Grad School Ex and I have been talking, going on what some might call dates, and generally being in each other's good graces, I said - hey. Wanna go to a wedding in NJ where I won't be able to drink so you can but then you have to dance with me a bunch of times and make sure that if HS Ex and his wife are there we look adorable and successful?
Ok. Not in those exact WORDS.
But at some point I was like - might you want to come? and he was like I might and so I plus oned the shit out of that response card and left it at that.
And then he got called to the Middle East for work.
Which is great for him. No really. I'm thrilled. It means that his job is going really well and they trust him a lot, and also, he got to fly business class across the Atlantic which is one of my bucket list items (coulda done it at Evil Corp, but honestly, flying business class to Dubai just to drive around for 24 hours collecting signatures seemed like a cheap way to get 'er done), and anyway, really. Great.
BUT WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT THIS WEDDING.
HS Ex aside, I had RSVPed with a date and lesson number one is don't fucking make the bride and groom pay $175 for a person who isn't gonna be there. It's just not nice. AND pulling HS Ex back INTO the picture, what if he were there, and I was not only dateless, but so obviously dateless because the seat next to me was empty??
NOT. GOOD.
So I fretted. A lot. I asked my friend Parker because he knows this girl from high school, is a great dancer, and very very lovely in general. But he also lives in Georgia and wasn't going to be in NJ. I thought about the other men in my life in the metro area - all engaged or married to my girlfriends. I thought about bribing friends from DC with a ticket up north and sex if necessary.
Nothing came to me.
Until I consulted Arielle and Dan, my gurus-of-all-things (apparently) and both came to the same decision separately: Peter. For those of you who don't know (and def don't care to look), Peter is a friend of mine from HS who got married in August and is a reformed asshole, meaning I still have a great time with him but don't sometimes feel like crying afterwards. He had the perfect qualifications - he knows the bride, he's a fabulous fill-in for whatever I decide is the story I plus oned and then brought my married friend, he's a drinker and a dancer and is prone to judging people just as much as me.
Still, I was nervous to ask.
Not because of his wife. In fact, I thought (and then Peter confirmed) that SHE'D be the best date, provided that she were a man. This chick is amazing. I love her. I love her more than her husband who I have known for like 16 years and have been very good friends with for a long time. She's so chill, it hurts. There was not even a THOUGHT that she'd have a problem with it (especially given that of all our friends, I am the only one Peter has never had sex with. Well, mostly. Mostly of all our friends, not mostly we haven't done it. We haven't! EVER! Seriously. Kid's fab, but no).
Uh, anyway.
So there I was, palms sweating and feeling like the 10 year old version of moi who was asked whether or not she wanted to be boyfriend and girlfriend with T.K. in BAND class, and circled "no" on the note but felt the need to write in "my parents think I'm too young to be someone's girlfriend sad face."
Sigh.
But with the image of HS Ex's wife in my head, I dialed. He picked up. We chatted for a bit, and then I asked him if he'd be boyfriend and girlfriend with me. But not really. Just if he thought he might be into going to this girl's wedding, drinking and eating some FANTASTIC Italian food (she is not a guid, but she IS from NJ and so her menu is. It's cruel for us dieters) and getting driven back to his wife early in the evening. Dancing was not required. AND!
He said YES.
Actually what he said was that he'd have to check with Beatrice, his wife, and that if she said no he'd match me up with one of his chill coworkers. But that was good enough for me. He said he was flattered and thought it wouldn't be a problem and was super excited to go to a wedding that wasn't his, wasn't our friend Adriana's (where there was no dancing, and from whence there is a FABULOUS picture of the two of us getting down on the back patio of the venue to our own a cappella version of the Boss), and wasn't Suzie's (this was pre-Bea, when he had recently SLEPT with Suzie during her you know, engagement, and was still sort of in love with her).
I agreed.
So we'll see. The moral of this story is, I'm too weak to go to a wedding where I'm afraid not that I'll know no one (that would be AWESOME) but instead where I'll know too many people. And that in such high-stress situations, I better have Arielle or Dan on speed dial. Also, Joey, to pinch hit after I ask the friend to do the uncomfortable favor.
Also, that I'm pretty effing lucky to have friends like Peter, and like Bea, and in general.
What would you have done in the situ? Pulled a (what's that terrible Grace from Will and Grace movie that was an awful remake of one of my FAVE chick lits of all time, "Asking for Trouble" by Elizabeth Young) and hired a male escort? Sucked it up and gone alone? Not have RSVPed for the plus one with Grad School Ex in the first place? Thoughts??
My insane year of 11 weddings (yup. Another one invited me this weekend) is kicking off next weekend in New Jersey, at the wedding of a friend from high school I have remained in OK contact throughout the years. She does not have a name on the blog, and she doesn't really merit one, but we were definitely very close about 10 years ago, so when I was invited, I said yes.
Plus one.
Because the thing is, this friend is part of the group that - my junior and senior year of high school - hung out all the time. It was three girls and four boys, of which the girls were dating 3 of the boys at various points in time, and my partner was - you guessed it! - HS Ex.
And there is a chance that he will be there next week.
Since Grad School Ex and I have been talking, going on what some might call dates, and generally being in each other's good graces, I said - hey. Wanna go to a wedding in NJ where I won't be able to drink so you can but then you have to dance with me a bunch of times and make sure that if HS Ex and his wife are there we look adorable and successful?
Ok. Not in those exact WORDS.
But at some point I was like - might you want to come? and he was like I might and so I plus oned the shit out of that response card and left it at that.
And then he got called to the Middle East for work.
Which is great for him. No really. I'm thrilled. It means that his job is going really well and they trust him a lot, and also, he got to fly business class across the Atlantic which is one of my bucket list items (coulda done it at Evil Corp, but honestly, flying business class to Dubai just to drive around for 24 hours collecting signatures seemed like a cheap way to get 'er done), and anyway, really. Great.
BUT WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT THIS WEDDING.
HS Ex aside, I had RSVPed with a date and lesson number one is don't fucking make the bride and groom pay $175 for a person who isn't gonna be there. It's just not nice. AND pulling HS Ex back INTO the picture, what if he were there, and I was not only dateless, but so obviously dateless because the seat next to me was empty??
NOT. GOOD.
So I fretted. A lot. I asked my friend Parker because he knows this girl from high school, is a great dancer, and very very lovely in general. But he also lives in Georgia and wasn't going to be in NJ. I thought about the other men in my life in the metro area - all engaged or married to my girlfriends. I thought about bribing friends from DC with a ticket up north and sex if necessary.
Nothing came to me.
Until I consulted Arielle and Dan, my gurus-of-all-things (apparently) and both came to the same decision separately: Peter. For those of you who don't know (and def don't care to look), Peter is a friend of mine from HS who got married in August and is a reformed asshole, meaning I still have a great time with him but don't sometimes feel like crying afterwards. He had the perfect qualifications - he knows the bride, he's a fabulous fill-in for whatever I decide is the story I plus oned and then brought my married friend, he's a drinker and a dancer and is prone to judging people just as much as me.
Still, I was nervous to ask.
Not because of his wife. In fact, I thought (and then Peter confirmed) that SHE'D be the best date, provided that she were a man. This chick is amazing. I love her. I love her more than her husband who I have known for like 16 years and have been very good friends with for a long time. She's so chill, it hurts. There was not even a THOUGHT that she'd have a problem with it (especially given that of all our friends, I am the only one Peter has never had sex with. Well, mostly. Mostly of all our friends, not mostly we haven't done it. We haven't! EVER! Seriously. Kid's fab, but no).
Uh, anyway.
So there I was, palms sweating and feeling like the 10 year old version of moi who was asked whether or not she wanted to be boyfriend and girlfriend with T.K. in BAND class, and circled "no" on the note but felt the need to write in "my parents think I'm too young to be someone's girlfriend sad face."
Sigh.
But with the image of HS Ex's wife in my head, I dialed. He picked up. We chatted for a bit, and then I asked him if he'd be boyfriend and girlfriend with me. But not really. Just if he thought he might be into going to this girl's wedding, drinking and eating some FANTASTIC Italian food (she is not a guid, but she IS from NJ and so her menu is. It's cruel for us dieters) and getting driven back to his wife early in the evening. Dancing was not required. AND!
He said YES.
Actually what he said was that he'd have to check with Beatrice, his wife, and that if she said no he'd match me up with one of his chill coworkers. But that was good enough for me. He said he was flattered and thought it wouldn't be a problem and was super excited to go to a wedding that wasn't his, wasn't our friend Adriana's (where there was no dancing, and from whence there is a FABULOUS picture of the two of us getting down on the back patio of the venue to our own a cappella version of the Boss), and wasn't Suzie's (this was pre-Bea, when he had recently SLEPT with Suzie during her you know, engagement, and was still sort of in love with her).
I agreed.
So we'll see. The moral of this story is, I'm too weak to go to a wedding where I'm afraid not that I'll know no one (that would be AWESOME) but instead where I'll know too many people. And that in such high-stress situations, I better have Arielle or Dan on speed dial. Also, Joey, to pinch hit after I ask the friend to do the uncomfortable favor.
Also, that I'm pretty effing lucky to have friends like Peter, and like Bea, and in general.
What would you have done in the situ? Pulled a (what's that terrible Grace from Will and Grace movie that was an awful remake of one of my FAVE chick lits of all time, "Asking for Trouble" by Elizabeth Young) and hired a male escort? Sucked it up and gone alone? Not have RSVPed for the plus one with Grad School Ex in the first place? Thoughts??
Thursday, December 2, 2010
in which i am fucking tired.
So.
These days my hours go like this. 6am - alarm. 6:01am - (me): snuffle snuffle SMACK. 6:01:20am - my alarm clock breaks. Again. 7am - am jolted out of sleep by neighbors stomping boots. Look at shards of alarm clock on floor. Check phone, register that is it 7 but wonder if I have email. 7:01am - I do, but it's from bed bath and beyond again. Moan in sadness. 7:01:30am - fall back asleep. 7:02:45am wake up with a start, realize MUST CATCH BUS IN 20 MINUTES AND HAVEN'T SHOWERED SINCE MONDAY BECAUSE WAS SO LATE. SHIT SHIT SHIT. until 7:22am - dash about, hair still half full of shampoo, dripping water everywhere, including all over work docs. 7:22am - make it out of house. breathe sigh of relief. 7:22:05am - realize i left my smartrip inside, and have no dollars. curse cash. 7:24am - get outside, get to bus stop just in time for it to pull away. curse bus driver, wmata, life. 7:24:30am - refresh next bus madly on my bb until it tells me something nice. 7:27am - get on bus. 7:52am - get off at stop. 7:58am - sit down at desk, turn on computer, poke some shampoo out of my ear, sigh in sadness.
8am - 4:45pm. lord knows.
4:45pm get back on wmata. hate on high school students. hate on cold weather. hate on anything that isn't me, my bed, or my 100 calorie dinner. 5:15pm - eat 100 calorie dinner. 5:15:30pm still hungry. 5:16pm - take 3.5 hr long nap. 8:46pm - wake up, not sure if it's nighttime or next morning. freak out because am sure am late for work. get into bathroom, hear stupid band across the alley practicing, sigh in relief. then shout out window YOU FUCKING SUCK. 8:50pm get onto computer. chat with friends for first time in 24 hrs. realize it has been that long without chat and go thru mini withdrawal. hate on my job. 9:00pm open blogger window. 9:06pm decide i should really wash dishes before blogging. 9:07pm wash one spoon. 9:08 decide washing dishes requires episode of scrubs. 9:09pm realize cannot hear scrubs with water turned on. turn water off. sit down on couch to watch scrubs. 9:09pm - zzzzzzzzzzz. 3:09am WHAT WHAT FUCK FUCK WHAT TIME IS IT oh shit my dishes aren't clean. 3:10am - wash two dishes. 3:12am - what the fuck, it's three in the morning, go to bed. 3:15am - lie down in bed. 3:20am - open eyes, stare at ceiling. is that a bug? 3:25am it was not a bug, but almost sprained ankle trying to swat it. 3:30am - let's see if i can name billy joel songs for every letter of the alphabet. 4:07am - annnnnd ZANZIBAR. shit. shitfuck. shitshitfuckfuck don't looook at the tiiiiiiiiiiiiiime. 4:08am - give in. am horrified by time. put on scrubs again. 4:09am haven't i seen this already? 4:10am - zzzzzzzzz. 4:11am - 4:21am - have very strange dream in which dr. cox is my dad and jd is my brother and i love turk but he loves carla who weirdly loves me, but in spanish. 4:22am - wake up. want to cry. 4:23am - do cry. 5:00am - if i don't fall asleep now, it'll be less than an hour before i have to wake up. 5:15am - less than 45 minutes. 5:30am - less than 30 minutes. 5:45am - less than 15 minutes. 5:50am - zzzzzz.
6am - new alarm.
These days my hours go like this. 6am - alarm. 6:01am - (me): snuffle snuffle SMACK. 6:01:20am - my alarm clock breaks. Again. 7am - am jolted out of sleep by neighbors stomping boots. Look at shards of alarm clock on floor. Check phone, register that is it 7 but wonder if I have email. 7:01am - I do, but it's from bed bath and beyond again. Moan in sadness. 7:01:30am - fall back asleep. 7:02:45am wake up with a start, realize MUST CATCH BUS IN 20 MINUTES AND HAVEN'T SHOWERED SINCE MONDAY BECAUSE WAS SO LATE. SHIT SHIT SHIT. until 7:22am - dash about, hair still half full of shampoo, dripping water everywhere, including all over work docs. 7:22am - make it out of house. breathe sigh of relief. 7:22:05am - realize i left my smartrip inside, and have no dollars. curse cash. 7:24am - get outside, get to bus stop just in time for it to pull away. curse bus driver, wmata, life. 7:24:30am - refresh next bus madly on my bb until it tells me something nice. 7:27am - get on bus. 7:52am - get off at stop. 7:58am - sit down at desk, turn on computer, poke some shampoo out of my ear, sigh in sadness.
8am - 4:45pm. lord knows.
4:45pm get back on wmata. hate on high school students. hate on cold weather. hate on anything that isn't me, my bed, or my 100 calorie dinner. 5:15pm - eat 100 calorie dinner. 5:15:30pm still hungry. 5:16pm - take 3.5 hr long nap. 8:46pm - wake up, not sure if it's nighttime or next morning. freak out because am sure am late for work. get into bathroom, hear stupid band across the alley practicing, sigh in relief. then shout out window YOU FUCKING SUCK. 8:50pm get onto computer. chat with friends for first time in 24 hrs. realize it has been that long without chat and go thru mini withdrawal. hate on my job. 9:00pm open blogger window. 9:06pm decide i should really wash dishes before blogging. 9:07pm wash one spoon. 9:08 decide washing dishes requires episode of scrubs. 9:09pm realize cannot hear scrubs with water turned on. turn water off. sit down on couch to watch scrubs. 9:09pm - zzzzzzzzzzz. 3:09am WHAT WHAT FUCK FUCK WHAT TIME IS IT oh shit my dishes aren't clean. 3:10am - wash two dishes. 3:12am - what the fuck, it's three in the morning, go to bed. 3:15am - lie down in bed. 3:20am - open eyes, stare at ceiling. is that a bug? 3:25am it was not a bug, but almost sprained ankle trying to swat it. 3:30am - let's see if i can name billy joel songs for every letter of the alphabet. 4:07am - annnnnd ZANZIBAR. shit. shitfuck. shitshitfuckfuck don't looook at the tiiiiiiiiiiiiiime. 4:08am - give in. am horrified by time. put on scrubs again. 4:09am haven't i seen this already? 4:10am - zzzzzzzzz. 4:11am - 4:21am - have very strange dream in which dr. cox is my dad and jd is my brother and i love turk but he loves carla who weirdly loves me, but in spanish. 4:22am - wake up. want to cry. 4:23am - do cry. 5:00am - if i don't fall asleep now, it'll be less than an hour before i have to wake up. 5:15am - less than 45 minutes. 5:30am - less than 30 minutes. 5:45am - less than 15 minutes. 5:50am - zzzzzz.
6am - new alarm.
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