Chirky

Good morning, Insomnia. How are you today? Oh? Fine? REALLY? WELL I HATE YOU.

Yes, you heard me. I hate you. That's a strong word. I don't think I could possibly explain the contempt and disgust I hold in my heart for you. But I'll try:

This morning, I woke up at 2:49am. I woke myself up, because I was shrieking. SHRIEKING. Why? Because of my dream. And it was about YOU, Katie. YOU are the cause of my shriek. And YOU were in it too, Eddie. And YOU, other random people that my mind made up and that i've never met and probably never will and where in the world did you come from?

I dreamed that we were all in MTV's The Real World, and even though I knew KT and Eddie, we were meeting everyone else for the first time. The girls started bickering and KT just walked off toward the pier (we were standing on a beach). Except to get to this pier, you had to walk up about 100 stone steps (reminiscent of walking up steps to a Chinese Mausoleum). And Katie was half-way up them and all of a sudden I realize that SHE'S NAKED. And the girl next to me is holding her clothes, and Katie has turned around and is just staring at all of us IN ALL HER NAKED GLORY, as though she's trying to make some obvious point to everyone. AND THIS IS HOW SHE'S MAKING IT. And I SHRIEK.

And then I wake up, and Roger does too, and asks me "What's wrong?" And I think I mention something about a dream or that I'm just shrieking, and he rolls back over and starts sleeping again. How does he do it?

And now I'm awake. And I'm awake most of the night, except for random 30 minute intervals where I've fallen in an awake-type sleep, where I'm technically asleep, but only because I'm not awake. And it was a very light sleep, where I might as well have been awake. And for the rest of the night, since I wasn't sleeping, ALL I THINK ABOUT IS WHAT I'LL SAY WHEN I BLOG. Yes, Eddie, you've created a monster.

Finally, at 6:59 I decide to get up. And one minute later my alarm clock goes off, AND I WANT TO THROW IT ACROSS THE ROOM, because WHAT is the point?

And so I take a shower, and somehow my quick 20 minute shower turns into 45 minutes. I'm not sure how that happened. I don't remember being in there that long. Maybe I fell asleep.

And then, IT ALL BEGINS. After fixing my hair and putting on my makeup, I begin the process of dressing. First, any single man should be warned. If you marry a woman with a flare for drama, GETTING DRESSED WILL NEARLY ALWAYS BE DRAMA. And so it was this morning. I already have picked out what I am going to wear. No problem. And then, it happens: I run a pair of pantyhose.

Frustrated, I fling them down and get another pair. I manage to put a hole in these, which will turn into a run later on. Normally that wouldn't bother me too much, but I have another fancy-schmancy work party to go to tonight (we went to Roger's client party last night), and I don't want to go with runs in my pantyhose. So I yank them off, and put on another pair. Another run. Off, fling across room. I do this twice. I try thigh-highs. They were too long for my legs (even though I'm a solid 5'7" they were too long. Can you imagine the drama?). So I took them off. I tried my last pair of pantyhose, which were nude instead of black, but would've served the purpose despite the color. Yes, I RAN THEM. So I put the thigh highs back on. And then, I not only ran them, but put an enormous hole in them too. SIX pairs of NEW pantyhose. New pantyhose. SIX PAIRS. Different brands. Good quality. Six pairs. New Pantyhouse.

CANNOT COPE WITH LIFE.

I require 8 hours of sleep to function properly as a human. I only got 4 hours last night. I am not functioning properly. And considering my drama the night before last, it is a surprise that I am functioning AT ALL.

Oh, and also? I broke TWO fingernails. AFTER the pantyhose incident. Roger, you know how I thought I just broke one? I didn't. I BROKE TWO.

By this point, I am crying. Heaving and crying and I have tears and snot all over my face. And my mascara is running and I look like a raccoon and I was supposed to be at work at 8:30 and it is currently 8:36. Roger is staring at me, quite unsure how to handle the situation, and I am freaking out because OBVIOUSLY I will not be wearing the skirt as planned. And now I must find something else to wear, which takes several drama-infected minutes.

Finally I am on my way to work, which is five minutes away. But then there's the traffic, which makes it 20 minutes away. And I'm still crying and still have snot dripping down my face and my mascara. OH, MY MASCARA. Mascara is not waterproof, but will not come off regardless of how much spit and rubbing is applied.

People in elevator think I'm half-crazed.

Oh, and by the way: I'm sick. And every two minutes everyone in the BUILDING can hear me blow my nose on my new anti-viral Kleenex.

It's nearly that time of the month, and I'm so glad that I'll be finished by the time we visit Roger's family for Christmas. Because even though they may read this blog, they have not witnessed it in person. And if they did, perhaps they would urge us to get an annulment, fearing that their son will become even a tenth as crazy as I feel right now. Therapy sessions needed.

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Today, the best part of being married is having a husband who undoubtedly loves me and wants to console me...even when I am having a COMPLETE AND TOTAL MELTDOWN.