You guys, sleep has been elusive.

I mean, I’ve had insomnia issues since my early forties, but I seem to be going through a bit more than usual.

My post menopausal hormones have fallen in with insomnia and formed a gang against me.

Pretty sure I hear mother nature and father time chuckling as I write this.

The shit that is keeping me up is so fucking stupid. It’s not work anxiety or mortality anxiety. Nothing like that.

It’s snippets of songs or inane questions. I could get the answer if I got out of bed and picked up my phone from the charger.

Last night, I had Gimme Some Water by Eddie Money stuck in my head. It’s lasted through out the day. At this point, I am fairly certain that I shot a man on the Mexican border.

But that was just the soundtrack for the real reason I couldn’t sleep.

I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t remember the name of the woman Rod Stewart was with when he recorded Tonight’s The Night.

Cool, cool water…

Only, I actually did remember. Britt Ekland. But then I would tell myself that was wrong. Not Britt Ekland, that other girl.

When I got up this morning, I googled it and it was, of course, Britt Ekland. When I first saw the answer, my initial thought was, “no…that’s not right.”

Give me some water…

I had so many plans. But not getting much sleep fucked up a lot of those plans.

I took Friday off work and this is the end of my long weekend. I got about half the housework done that I wanted to. Although, I can’t really blame being tired for dragging my feet on the house work. I am in tune with nature, I too abhor a vacuum.

If cleanliness is next to godliness, then according to my house, I am an atheist.

I need a little water…

It wasn’t a complete loss, though. I accomplished two things.

First, I got to add to my “travel around the world” money. When I clean, I keep the money I find in a dresser drawer for a trip around the world. I found a dime in the tub, so there’s that.

The other thing is I figured out how to fool my devices that spy on me.

You know how you can talk about something specific and almost immediately see ads for that exact product on your social media accounts?

Well, when I cleaned today, I just recited this over and over: Anal warts, fungal cream, stinky halitosis, scabies cure, lice combs, how to fix neurosis.

I have way fewer ads on my sidebars now.

Mostly, a bunch of messages that say “Oh god, I’m so sorry” and maybe a few mental health facility ads.

So, you know, I’m spending my time off productively.

Here’s to hoping that I sleep a little more tonight since I have to go back to work tomorrow. Or if not, maybe I’ll at least get a different musical artist. No offense to Eddie Money.

Smack that horse in the ass, with my last dying gasp
My brother could hear me say

So, Randy and I have been together for over 26 years now. Not saying we haven’t had our ups and downs, but mostly, they’ve been great years.

One would think, after 26 years, we’d know all of each other’s stories. We don’t. We learned that a few days ago.

***Warning: if you are disturbed by maggots, read no further. I promise, no pictures or graphic details because they are goddamn maggots.***

Randy and I are on our 7 jillionth attempt to get into better shape.

We have had some good success in the past. This time isn’t so much a success as it is a leisurely attempt at not gaining weight.

We’ve been trying to cut some carbs and decided to try these weird ass noodles.

Miracle noodles or impossible noodles. Something like that. We still have a bag in the fridge. I could go check but that would require me getting out of bed. I think we can all agree that is not reasonable.

These noodles are strangely white and are in liquid in plastic bags. When you open the bag, they smell bad, vaguely of dead fish. But if you soak them for a while and then heat them up, they are fine. No odor at all.

So, we were in bed, watching TV and eating chili spaghetti with these weird ass noodles (don’t judge) and compared notes.

Randy: They’re too chewy.

Me: I don’t mind that, but I can’t get how white they are out of my head. It’s disturbing.

They were chewy, but not absurdly so. Like way less chewy than the calamari at an Olive Garden. 

Randy: We should research the ingredients a little more. We’ll probably find out that they’re made out of maggots or something.

You guys, my reaction was extreme. I think I sputtered for a minute.

I grabbed my plate and left the room in a definite huff.

Me: Why would you say that? Seriously. What the fuck?

I took my plate out to the kitchen and walked back in the bedroom.

Me: I could vomit right now. Just why?

Randy:…

Randy: Okay?

I threw my hands up in the air and left the room again.

I paced around in the living room for a minute and it dawned on me.

He didn’t understand. He had no idea the profound revulsion I feel if I even hear the word “maggot”. Just writing maggot makes me shudder a little. I’m not phobic, because I’m not afraid of them. I am repulsed by them. I mean, that still may be phobia. I don’t know.

I just know it’s more primal than fear. I’m afraid of some things. I am afraid of flying in airplanes, but I will. I just hate it and have to drug myself. I am afraid sharks.

I still don’t swim in the ocean though because that’s just dumb and asking for shark trouble. Also, I’m fairly sure I’m delicious so why would I risk that?

But I digress.

Anyway, I took a few deep breaths and went back to the bedroom.

Me: So, you have no idea why I freaked out over maggots. Have I ever told you my maggot story?

Randy: Noooo. I don’t remember any maggot story.

Me: Okay, when I was around 10 years old, I was playing on the sidewalk in front of my house. I had this pair of leather loafers with a weave. They were brown. 48 years later and I still know exactly what they looked like.

Randy: Yeah, I don’t know this story.

Me: Anyway, I took my shoes off and they were on the sidewalk. Some kid grabbed one and threw into down the sewer in front of my house. I laid down in the street and started to reach into the sewer to get my shoe back.

Randy: Oh god.

Me: Dude, the sewer was filled with maggots. I’m talking tens of thousands. I’m talking a mound of maggots. My shoe was completely submerged. In maggots.

Randy: Okay, so I’m feeling bad about the whole maggot comment now.

Me: So, I lost my shoe.

Randy: How come you never told me this?

Me: I don’t know. I don’t think about it much. And if I do, it’s not something I want to talk about. I can barely say the word maggot. I mean, if I see a snake I’m probably going to scream a little and run away. But if I see a maggot, I’m going to curl up in a fetal position and rock for a while.

Randy: Damn.

Me: I remember specific scenes in shows and movies solely because someone said the word “maggot”.

Randy: That’s pretty bad.

Me: Anyway, about those noodles. Maybe, if we chopped them up rice sized they’d be easier to eat.

Randy:..

Me: Like little maggots.

I seriously have no idea why there is still a bag of those noodles in my refrigerator.

The point to this post is this: Even if you’ve known each other for decades doesn’t mean that there aren’t still things to learn about each other.

Image by Horacio Lozada from Pixabay