Lo, How The Mighty Have Fallen.
It is the Day of Rest, and yet I am here in my office, on a clear and breezy Sunday, running a series of reports. I am hoping they will run quickly so that I can get home to my leftover pork with ginger sauce, but in the meantime I will tell you about my week—though there isn’t much to tell when you divide your time between working, sleeping, and whining.
Let’s see…I got a hair cut. I had two delightful post-work meals with my mother. I witnessed the disturbing return of my Metformin side effects. I bought a package of Playtex SPORT! tampons that I look forward to using next week in the hopes that they will make me feel lithe and agile during my period. Mostly, though, I have been arriving home too exhausted to do anything but eat and crawl into bed, only to reawaken still tired a few hours later. The result of this ever-multiplying grogginess was that I overslept Friday morning. This may seem like an unorthodox way to inspire confidence in my superiors regarding my ability to handle the demands of Lead Editorship, but then I have always been a bit of a maverick.
I know what you’re thinking: “Didn’t her alarm go off?” And the answer is no, it didn’t, because I don’t have one. I do not have an alarm because I do not need an alarm. Before I go to sleep at night, I tell my brain what time to wake me, and it complies. It always has, even when I was a child. If I had to be up for school at 7:00 in the morning, I snapped awake at precisely 6:59. It is a souce of pride, the fact that I can harness my anxiety in service of punctuality. I view it as a mark of my mental superiority over the Actually that he requires a machine to rouse him from slumber, whereas I require only the power of the human mind.
So I scoff at alarms. Or rather, scoffed. Nothing wipes a superior smirk off a girl’s face like skulking into the office ninety minutes late with wet hair, wearing one white sock and one blue sock. The Actually has smugly offered to set his alarm for me, and with a scowl I have taken him up on the offer. I am hoping that when we change the clocks next weekend so that I am no longer forced to awaken into velvety blackness, my mind will regain the upper hand.
My primary weapon against my constant sleepiness has been to start the day with bouncy music in my car. I have been listening to a lot of James Brown—it is hard to be sleepy when someone is squealing in a sexually suggestive manner at 6:30 in the morning. As a result, I may very well be the only petite white girl walking to her meetings with “Say it Loud (I’m Black and Proud!)” playing in her head.
* * * * * *
Sentence of the week, from a menu at the restaurant where I had dinner Wednesday night:
“Pot roast isn’t pot roast without horseradish creme fraiche.”
So true. Why, that’s just what my grandmother used to say.
13 Comments
and I’m about to see what guinea fowl is like WITH mustard creme fraiche…well,the recipe was in the sunday paper, and I happened to have a guinea fowl handy.
How is the haircut?
I have the head clock thingy, too. My grandma had it, so I think i get it from her. Everyone else just finds it eerie.
What, your grandmother didn’t serve pot roast without horseradish creme fraiche? You poor, deprived child. Come here and let me cradle you.
I’ve also got the mental alarm clock. It’s pretty reliable unless I have something to drink… maybe I should consider purchasing one of those alarm thingies.
Congrats on the new job!
I so don’t have the mental alarm clock. What I do have is an innate ability to hear the alarm go off, get out of bed, reset the alarm clock for the very last minute I can get up and still get to work on time, and crawl back into bed ALL WITHOUT WAKING UP! The alarm clock is across the room solely because I hoped it would cure me of this ability. And I don’t just hit snooze, I actually turn it off, reset it, and turn it back on.
Ladies, we are some talented creatures, I tell you.
And pot roast without horseradish creme fraiche? How gauche.
“As a result, I may very well be the only petite white girl walking to her meetings with “Say it Loud (I’m Black and Proud!)” playing in her head.”
I wondered where you were headed with all this … and that last line was perfectly hysterical. Still chuckling. (smile)
I would not presume to do this without your OK, but I’d like to add you to my list of favorite blogs at my site. No reciprocation necessary. I just enjoy your blog. If that’s OK.
Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.
I thought that was a myth, waking on time without an alarm clock!
I’d advise a cell phone with built in alarm.
You head-clock people disgust me. I am a head-sleep person. Meaning that my head wants sleep all the time and will do anything to get it, including telling me that my alarm clock is actually a bomb and must be unplugged to save all of civilization. I obeyed, of course. What could I do? Humanity was depending on me! Unfortunately, it was finals week and my superhero efforts cost me an entire letter grade.
I hope the job gets easier for you. If it doesn’t, explain to them that alarm-clock bombs are plentiful these days and you were just doing your duty.
I like my head clock - it’s default time at the minute is 2 am, but I’m working on a daylight savings time strategy for that. One that um, doesn’t include wine unfortunately.
I’m really impressed with you head-clock people. If I didn’t have an alarm clock I’d never get up at all.
And here’s to feeling lithe and agile during one’s period!
The next maverick move you should pull is to not show up at all.
In fact, you could kind of morph the whole “Office Space” routine into your personal work repertoire.
It’ll be revolutionary! Or, you know. Reliable.
Yes, but can you pre-program your dreams?
Also, this line is a classic: “I bought a package of Playtex SPORT! tampons that I look forward to using next week in the hopes that they will make me feel lithe and agile during my period.” You consistently crack me up.
I envy your circadian rhythms. Mine work almost in reverse because of my insomnia. On those days when I need to wake up on time, I can’t and when I have the luxury of being able to sleep in, I’m awake at 7:30.
Hang in there with the Metformin.
Not only do I have a clock for myself, I can wake up for Hub, who needs to get out of bed at 6 am! How handy am I? It’s a gift, really, this being able to wake before the sun.