Right here at the beginning, I need to tell all those who read yesterday’s post how grateful I am for you. For those of you who commented, I tried to reply to individual comments and I couldn’t do it. It’s too close to my heart.
From right down in my guts, I thank you for seeing Carter, and for hearing me. It means more than I could have imagined it would.
This weekend, Brian and I put the kids to bed and set up our nest on the couch: coffee, popcorn, sweaters, slippers, a big blanket, and the remote control.
Brian and I are living the wild life, people.
We hit the button for OnDemand (How much do I love that we can watch movies without going to the video store anymore?) and found a movie. Some action and adventure movie, probably, since that’s one of the few places where Brian’s and my movie preferences intersect.
Ten minutes after we started the movie, Brian said, “This seems familiar.”
“Yeah, me, too. Did we see this?”
“I think so. Do you remember how it ends?”
“Well, we might as well watch it if we can’t remember it,” Brian decided, and huddled back into his corner of the couch.
I’m turning 40 next month. I’m trying to look on the bright side like, for instance, the only alternative to getting older is dying young, so there’s that to be grateful for.
Also, unless it was very momentous, I can watch movies again later if I give myself enough time to forget them.
I used to remember everything. When I was in my twenties, it seemed I couldn’t forget anything, no matter how useless the information.
The delusion, suffered by some in Southeast Asia, wherein a man believes his external genitalia is shrinking and will soon disappear? That’s koro. I picked that up somewhere, probably a waiting room magazine, and it stuck there. Now, though, I devote two hours of my life to a movie and all significant memories of those two hours drip right out my ear and down the drain.
It’s a heck of a note, this getting older business. How do we all manage to believe that it will never happen to us?
Brian (who is much, much older than I am; truly, I am practically a child compared to him) or I stretch or groan or act in any way old, Carter will pipe up and say, “I’m sorry you’re getting old,” so that’s very comforting.
All in all, I wouldn’t change it. I wasn’t good at being young, but I’ve been practicing at middle age for going on fifteen years now.
Hell, we’re all advanced at something, right?
Which brings me to today. I’m so tired I feel like my face is going to slide right off the front of my head.
I slept four hours last night. Up until a few years ago, that was a fine amount of sleep, as long as I didn’t have more than two short nights in a row. Now, I’m rendered nearly non-functional, and no amount of coffee will remedy the situation.
Coffee is no substitute for sleep, but that doesn’t stop me from trying (repeatedly) to make it to do the job, kind of like trying to force a horde of hamsters* to pull a Volkswagen up a hill.
So me? I’m going to bed, because sleep is the only real solution for tiredness (I am all genius-y and profound today with my cause-effect observations). By the time you read this tomorrow (which will be today, but it is (was) tomorrow now, as I write this), I will, I hope, be well rested and thinking in a more sophisticated manner.
*That’s the real name for a group of hamsters. I done Googled it.