Sleep Deprivation

I think a few weeks ago, I hit a new record in sleep deprivation.

It had been a little over 2 weeks since I’ve had a complete 8 hours of sleep.  My blissful rests ranged from 45 minutes to 6 hours. I also asked myself about 100 times if my grad school career is worth such a horrible case of the head nods, but I’m still here so I suppose the answer is yes.

To lighten the mood a bit, or perhaps to avoid doing work here are some direct consequences that are a direct result of my not sleeping.

1. My languages were bleeding into one another.

I answered a student in German the other day, and another day switched mid-sentence to a terrible rendition of French. I also started speaking to my cat in Spanish involuntarily.

2. I had to write a check and it looked like this:

I even spelled my name wrong.

3. I fell asleep while working in a public place, and someone took a picture of me.

My friends are so nice.

4. I *almost* walked out the door not completely dressed.

…and another time I actually did.

Don’t worry. I’ve slept some since then. Some.

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Life without Facebook

Recently, I decided to deactivate my Facebook. For various reasons. You may be thinking of doing this, too.

While at first I could only focus on the fact that I couldn’t communicate with people as easily, I eventually got over it. Here’s what I’ve been doing in order to become an awesome old person while also not having a Facebook.

1. Om nom! Eating new foods!

Such as Germknödl

Making new foods! (such as these no-bakes).

2. Going to some randomly selected place!

(Travel tip: Avoid hitch-hiking Buddhists by running in the opposite direction)

3. Going out into nature! It’s pretty.

I went into the wild and found a German in it’s natural habitat, eating it’s favorite meal: the pretzel.

4. Reading

You know that BBC list of books you should read to be awesome? Well now you do.

5. Getting back into running shape.
It feels exactly like this.

And this:

And this.

6. Ignoring people who say “You need to reactivate your Facebook because___________!”

I’m usually really nice outwardly when this happens, but really I’m like

And think:

7. Going back to school.

So, apologies if I’m not as creative or as frequent on this blog.

 

The Eyelashes Story: A dramatization of my childhood through pictures

In general, I think I was a pretty normal 6-year-old.

I even got along with most kids my age. With the exception of one. We’ll call him S.

I’m sure wherever S is now, he’s a very nice guy with a girlfriend and lots of money. But at the age of 6, S daily confessed his love for me during the precious half hour of recess which my 6-year-old self did not appreciate in the least bit.

My 6-year-old brain was continually confused and annoyed by these confessions. I had two ideas of love: Mommy and Daddy love and sibling love. S did not fit either of these categories and so I had to deal with him the only ways I knew how.

I tried everything to stop him.

…but no matter what I did…

…he never relented.

After several days of this, my 6-year-old self had run out if ideas.  My only sanctuary was home, where I could play in peace without sneak-attack kisses, hugs and confessions from S.

But then…

“Monica, I just got off the phone with S’s mom…”

“He’s coming over later for a play date!”

I’ve recently discussed the concept of “play date” with some people, and this concept couldn’t fit better than in this scenario.  It’s basically when parents decide you should play with each other because the parents are friends, so why not the children?  This usually is awesome about 90% of the time because you get to drive in the car to someone’s house who probably has a PlayStation or something and you can play Mortal Kombat because their parents don’t know your Dad says its too violent and your mom thinks the blood squirting everywhere is gross.

But this was not one of those 90% times. This time, my own mother had unknowingly taken away my only safe haven, my only solitude from S. I was in utter and total shock.

“You guys have fun, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

I was completely at a loss. This was literally the worst play date I had ever had in my ENTIRE existence up until that point. I WAS going to contract cooties, I was sure. I was going to contract cooties, not be able to go to school and DIE. And if I died, I would never get to be a marine biologist or learn ballet or meet Winnie the Pooh. There seemed to be no hope, no light at the end of the tunnel until in a disgustingly amorous gush, he said….

At first, I despaired. He was now waxing poetic in my own family room.

But after a moment of actually thinking about what he had just said….

… I got an idea.

I probably made some excuse to go to the bathroom or something, but I quickly ran away from S…

…and ran straight to my parents bedroom to carry out my plan.

And there I had it! In my hands, I held the power to end all the suffering and annoyance S had caused me! What an idiot! He had confessed with his own mouth his downfall!

I returned to S extremely comforted and proud of my solution.

“I cut off all my eyelashes.”

He did not seem remotely impressed, but my words had the desired effect. He promptly left the room.

Congratulating myself, I continued to play with my toys without a worry about S.

But I think I also got spanked for using scissors.

The Lotion Story: A story in pictures

I recently went to the store to buy some lotion.

After approximately 4 seconds, I knew exactly the one I wanted.

But of course, I decided it was best to smell the lotion first before walking around smelling like a combination of pomegranate and the fairy tears with a name along the lines of “Lusty Lavender.”

But apparently, I was a little too exuberant in my attempts to simply smell the lotion, and this happened.

So there I am crouching on the ground of the store like one of Tolkien’s creatures with lotion all over my face and I feel the need to look up.

And then we both checked out our things at the same time. And walked in the same direction after leaving the store.

And then the whole way home.

Turns out she’s one of my neighbors.