Monday, June 4, 2012

This Is My Brain On Not-Enough Sleep

Dear god, I am having the hot-flash of the ages and if I had a swimming pool, I would tear my clothes off and jump in but I do not and so I sit here, bearing it. 
That is all you can do with a hot flash. Just bear it. Know it will pass.

I've actually been sitting here trying to write and just the very boldness of such an activity is giving me the hot-flashes. It's been so long since I've done this. With every word I type there seems to be a demon poking me with a hot pitchfork, yelling at me to shut-up! you suck! what the hell are you doing? and why aren't you out there in that garden, getting some real work done? You afraid to sweat, woman? Well, I'll give you sweat anyway, you fool.

Or something like that.

It's been a decent day. I went for a walk and then Lily and Jason and the boys came over. It was a treat to have them all here and we went out to the porch and the chickens came up,

thinking that maybe we were out there to feed them so I went and got some bread and we did and Owen ate some of the bread, too.
Owen owns this house and the yard too. He knows it. Everything here is his for his use and he knows all the hiding places and all of the secret stashes of his bamboo and how to feed the chickens and where Mer-Mer keeps the chocolate and the juice and which cup he likes to use for that juice. I don't know why but this just amuses the hell out of me. Three adults wandering around the house going, "Owen! Owen? Where are you, boy?" and he's only been gone for seven seconds, if that.
Gibson, of course, still has a lot of learning to do in regards to Mer-Mer's house but he'll get there. The other day I wiped Owen's old walker down with bleach and Fabuloso and when he's ready, it'll be there, ready for him to get around and start to figure it all out.

I tried to get a decent picture of the two of us on Photo Booth but he suddenly decided he needed the ninny and in the three seconds it took for me to pose with him, he went from smiley baby to throwing-a-hissy baby but I think he's cute anyway. Isn't he getting chubby?

Owen's getting pretty darn annoyed with the camera. I hear that down in Satellite Beach one of his great-aunts started paying him dollars to let her take his picture. This cannot be good. His Mer-Mer is certainly not going to be paying him for the privilege of taking his picture. But I guess if I only saw him every six months or so I probably would.

Right after Lily and Jason and the boys left, Judy and Caroline came by. That was nice too. We sat on the back porch and visited and talked about such things as sexual abuse and aging and death and dying and I don't know what all. Women, after a certain age, do not fuck around. We get right to it. I appreciate that. I don't have the time or energy for garden-club chit-chat. Whatever that is. Maybe garden-club chit-chat is a myth in my own mind. Since I have a policy of not being part of anything that has the word "club" in it, I guess I will never know.
Which might be my loss and I admit that.

I've talked to May on the phone and then Lizzie called me and I talked to her. No garden-club chit-chat in either one of those conversations although Lis and I do talk about our gardens. I told her that my latest fantasy is buying and moving into a townhouse. She laughed at me. She knew I was kidding.
Sort of.

And Mr. Moon's gone to auction because thankfully, someone wants a car, and I guess I'll cook some green beans

 and potatoes and tomatoes for my supper. Maybe with chick peas. In a sort of curry thing. I wish I had some coconut milk but I don't.

It's time to put the chickens up. I've got the air conditioning on. I'm going to try and sleep tonight. I sure hope it happens because I'm tired of feeling even crazier than I usually do.

I heard a guy on the radio today say that perhaps depression is not really a mental illness anymore than homosexuality is, but simply part of the human condition and that "normalcy" doesn't really exist and that made me feel some better. My normal is not yours and his normal is certainly not mine and yet, even within my normal, there is abnormal and I'd just as soon get back to regular crazy.

Does that make any sense?

I doubt it.

Well, what in hell DOES make sense these days? Grandchildren do and so do friends and love always makes sense, even when it doesn't, and it makes sense to have a smoothie for breakfast made of yogurt and fresh fruit because no matter what you eat for the rest of the day, you have had your fruit.

That's about all I know.

Yours truly...Ms. Moon


  1. I stopped in on my break and you are just delightful in every sense of that word!l I don't know what it is but whatever you talk about is just like nice honest chit chat breath of fresh air-like. Owen looks tiny and Gibson looks like a real honest to goodness baby now or my eyes are tired. They are both so cuddly cute as are you Ms. Moon.

  2. Love it. And the green beans look delectable.

  3. I heard that same guy today on the radio, and had a similar reaction.

    Insomnia sucks. I keep hearing about how one can hallucinate when one doesn't get enough sleep, but I've never done that, but instead been full on in crazy brain, Maybe it's the same thing. I hope you sleep tonight.

  4. we say 'throwing a hissy' over here, too :) i hope you get some sleep. i myself had a bout of insomnia last night too and was awake till three am watching CONVICTION, not exactly a relaxing movie that makes you want to sleep.

  5. Absolutely that makes sense. Normal crazy is perfectly sane. Abnormal crazy makes me crazy!

    Your green beans look gorgeous, now I'm sad I didn't plant any 'cause gr.beans from the garden and potatoes and tomatoes w/butter is one of my favorites!

    Tell me about the hot flashes! I remember one that lasted for 5 minutes and was so bad I actually screamed with my arms flapping at my sides...ain't it great?! xx

  6. Honey, the hot flashes and SWEATS absolutely SUCK ASS. I'm not kidding. And I'll have 'em and then I won't. I mean, WTF? I want to rip off my clothes and fling myself in the lake, which here in Seattle, is damn cold. Icebrgs, a bathtub full of ice cubes, a hose down
    my bra, anything.

    Other than that, I'm usually perfectly well behaved.

    XXXXX Beth

  7. I'm thinking that baby Gibson looks like his father -- am I right?

    I think you know so many things, and I'm grateful that you put them all out here.

  8. Your house is a real and true love hub... The whole world would be safe in your garden...

  9. "Hot Flushes" here in England . . . but I'm sure they feel the same.
    And the proddy pitchfork thingy is here too. Maybe they go together.

  10. I like getting right down to it without idle chit chat. That is one of the attributes that I inherited or learned from my father. And I find myself even less tolerant these days for euphemisms.

  11. Anonymous Jo- Well, thank-you.

    gradydoctor- They were mighty pretty, those green beans. Then I had to go and COOK them.

    Sara- I've never been that sleep deprived either. I hope I never am.
    It's a goal of mine.

    Maggie May- I read your post and I can't STAND light on in the room while I sleep. I agree with you- you should read at night. Far more relaxing.

    liv- Sometimes you do just want to murder someone. Yourself or others. They are horrible. I am so weary of them.

    Beth- Have you ever had one in the shower? I have.

    Elizabeth- He is looking like his daddy, which is nice, since Jason is a handsome man.

    Photocat- Well, there are critters in the garden, such as ants...

    bugerlugs- Perhaps they do.

    Syd- Why bother? Jesus. I agree.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.