I love my life!

More to come.

Crudite does not rhyme with Luddite

I just got home in time to turn around and go out again.
I'm just glad I have my pants.
I have many, many stories to tell. Stories of food. Stories of wine. Stories of terrifying children. I have pictures, too.
Later.

Red sky in the morn...

... sailor be warned.

Took these yesterday morning. Interesting. The irony. Not until you get the irony.

Things are sorted now, so I'm going to change the secret meaning of these pictures from "harbingers of swollen eyes" to "pretty!".

Heading into White Rock tonight.

Happy long weekend, everyone!

I'm a bitch

The RCMP just called back. The goddamn kids were smoking goddamn Colt cigarettes or something. Why'd they have to look so shifty doing it? They made it look like they were shooting heroine or some effing thing.
I feel bad. It's raining out and they're smoking a legal (though ethically corrupt) substance in a crappy parking garage on a Thursday night. I dunno. What amenities are available to these kids - maybe there's no place for them to go. They weren't hurting anyone.
Maybe they were getting ready to, though. Yeah. They were all like, "Let's go smoke some Colts and then... fuckin'... knock over some garbage cans and light some cars on fire". Phew. I'm glad I called it in. People could've died.
I'm not saying I'm a hero, but if you insist...
The true kicker will come when I get busted for a drunk and disorderly in the near future. "Oh... you're that uptight bitch that rags on kids that aren't doing anything wrong. Sorry. Are those cuffs on too tight? Watch your head getting into the car."

Men are not from Mars

I don't know where they're from, but I'm pretty sure I could rationalize and use logic on a male Martian.
Fact: men and women communicate differently.
Fact: often, the message that the sender is trying to convey is not received by the receiver, resulting in miscommunication.
Fact: crying doesn't help. Even I got bored of it after two minutes.
Fact: cool down periods are extremely helpful. By the time I actually arrived in order to suss this issue face to face I was tired and it didn't really seem that important anymore.
Fact: Red Burrito makes the world's best burrito.
Last fact: I called the (non-emergency) police because some shifty looking kids were huddled in a stairwell in my underground parking (the unsecured part) when I came home just now.
I lied. One more fact: wasabi peas have a lot of fibre.
I realize that I am getting 'older' because I'm just too tired to fight about stuff anymore, and I'm calling the cops on teenagers and talking about the fibre content in snack foods.

It never fails

Anticipation: a precursor to a fantastic disappointment.
Hunch shoulders, cast eyes to ground.
Why am I so unlikable?

I may go to the gym before I go to my clinic tonight (must tone arms!)

One more day and then I’m on vacation! Yippee!!!!!!!! I can’t hardly wait. And I’ll be kicking it off with a super great gathering of super cool people at Coco’s celebrate her birthday. Gonna. Be. Awesome. Must remember camera.
Also bringing the camera to the Okanagan. As well as my laptop because I think I’m going to blog whilst there because I’m that much of a huge dork.
Check out God’s related blog on this topic of… blogging: http://nonosejob.blogspot.com/2008/07/blogging-evil.html

Please, Jebus, don't let my mom read this

She checks my blogs occasionally (when I've gone too long without calling).
The "happy" people are still on their balconies. Hello! The fireworks ended over an hour ago: don't you have to work in the morning?
I have ravenous desires. Involving skirts being hiked up, being pinned against walls, much tongue and grinding and no small amount of hickeys.
One day. One day I am going to set aside 24 hours for this. We will break for showers and eating and napping.
I wonder, on days like today where I quaff beer, pay down my mortgage, work out hard and am flirted with by random men, why it is that I'm unmarried. Then I think: why do I want to be married?
Oh, the thing I forgot to blog about earlier was that another toenail fell off. Except it was one that recently fell off, so.... I might have leprosy.
Running rocks!
Go. To. Bed. Balcony dwellers.

Those cool things in life I was talking about the other day

Sitting here, reading blogs because blogs can sometimes be more fun than books, and listening to the roar of the fireworks. Sounds like thunder. I saw flashing out of the corner of my eye and looked to the building kitty-corner to me and at first I thought I was seeing the flashes of many cameras go off. Turns out I was seeing the reflection of tonight's luminary spectacle reflected in their windowpanes. Cool, eh?
I can hear a lot of people (those that are south/south west facing) out on their balconies having fun and enjoying the display. It's nice.
Kind of a funky experience to be involved in, albeit in a solitaire and east-facing way.
I ate too many wasabi peas.

Mania rocks

Went for dinner and drinks with my ex-boss tonight. The Robot Liberator joined us about halfway in. I hugged him at the end. And then I got a sandwich hug, mashed between him and my ex-boss. I informed them that my therapy has been extended indefinitely thanks to this flagrant bout of touching.
Two beers to the wind I caught the seabus home and decided to multi-task. I'm such an efficient drunk. On the way up Lonsdale I: had a nice conversation with my father; stole a sweetpea from the park because they are my namesake and they smell so damn good; and paid a goodly sum down on my mortgage.
Upon arriving home I thought two things. Damn I'm thirsty. Let's go to the gym.
50 minutes on the bike later, here I am.
It occurs to me, as I contemplate running home from work tomorrow (must be home by 6pm to make tomorrow's clinic at 6:30!), that I'm pushing it pretty hard. One might say I'm turning it up a notch. To eleven.
Not sure where this burst of energy is coming from.
I'm going to go eat wasabi peas now.

Whoa!

I just re-read last night's blog and I would like to make the following statement: I realize that I was really in my head when I wrote that. I understand that the vast majority of people that read that were probably bored, perplexed or made angry/apathetic by it.
In news that doesn't take place entirely in my pea-head: my new boss cracks his knuckles and it drives me nuts. Also? I think a girl in marketing was just talking to her dog on the phone.
Lunch time!

We have a winner!

If any of you wonder about my mindset and my view on life, watch "13 Conversations About One Thing". I know you will because you're just dying to understand and analyse and get close to me. You lie awake thinking, "What makes Duder tick?" and "Why is she the way she is? It's clear that she's been dropped on her head... and yet it's more than that".
Why do I not look forward to things? Why am I so hard on myself? Why do I feel it necessary to work out for 80 minutes so that I can appropriately appreciate my dinner? I should revel more, I should be proud more, I should anticipate and be excited about things more often.
Right.
Here's how this works: I am an extremely lucky person. I have always believed this, and then I thought that it wasn't luck and that I'd done something to deserve the things that I have, but I change my mind back: it's luck. It's always been luck and it always will be luck. It was luck that I was born in Vancouver. It's luck that I landed good jobs. It was bad luck that I've been in a couple of car accidents. Luck that I got a condo. Bad luck that I met Typewriter. I couldn't control any of these things.
I do take credit for certain aspects: I didn't qualify for Boston by being lazy. I haven't kept all my jobs for as long as I have because I'm inept. You might say I "manage" my luck pretty well.
But when it comes to being anticipatory, to looking forward to something.... it just doesn't work with me.
Perfect case in point: I finally tracked down a wily and elusive bottle of Baco Noir that didn't cost the moon. I was so excited: I discovered this wine when I was visiting Ontario about four years ago, and was disappointed to discover that the varietal is quite rare here. So tonight, after working out for 80 minutes to earn my dinner I decided to get into the Baco. Hell, I even decanted the goddamn thing. And? Meh. That's what. Anticipation sucks. When I anticipate, I am let down. I anticipated 3:35 for the Vancouver Marathon. I anticipated some other things that I won't wade into at this point, and they didn't materialize either.
But I'm not morose. Quite the contrary. I'm content, and oft times I'm quite happy (though I don't display it like most regular people do: I see a myriad of amazing things that please me and renew my appreciation of life on a daily basis, but it's more fun to appear crabby and pissed off).
What was it about the Baco Noir? It was the anticipation of it. What was the reality of the Baco Noir? The reality was that I was holed up for several days in a hotel in Mississauga, visiting our satellite and head offices, getting trained, meeting people and.... working out and watching cable t.v. I was there over a long weekend (I think Labour Day) and I thought, "Who knows when I'll be back this way" so I hooked up with Pez and his fiance one day, and the other day I took a tour of Niagara Falls which included a wine tasting in the Niagara region. That's where I met the Baco.
So what was the Baco, really? It was bad luck putting me in Mississauga over the long weekend, and me managing it so that I could get out and have a good time. It was the woman I met because we bumped into each other at the gym and at breakfast a few times. It was Michael calling me at midnight because it was only nine o'clock his time and I know he knew this, but he missed me and wanted to hear my voice. It was one of the high-ups in management being impressed by me even though I drank too much wine at dinner and wore dumpy clothes, while another middle management woman was all but taking her top off to make some headway with him (and she totally ignored me at the airport too, which was fine cause I bought some shitty chick flick book and had a couple of glasses of wine at a lounge before boarding, and was hoping to drink more on the flight so that I could hopefully fall asleep but was unable to because a girl came and joined me - even though I had the whole frickin' row to myself! - but that was okay because she was into kayaking so we talked about that for ages). Niagara Falls (the falls themselves, not the shitty tourist trap that presses up against them). Great weather. Friendly people. Beautiful countryside.
I'm not doing a very good job explaining this. It's probably something like this: I'm not big on getting excited about the prospect of things for a few reasons: a) it's never the same the second time; b) the greater the expectation, the greater the scrutiny, and the more biting the disappointment; c) the unexpected things on the day to day are the best; and d) it might not even happen.
And on a really "out there" level (and yes, I do believe this): I think that the more I look forward to something the more it is likely to be taken from me. This is based on 31 years of experience. I understand that this is because I already have an inordinate amount of luck and that it is quite audacious for me to be expectant about anything. I heard the term "every day above ground is a good day" a few years ago and that's my mantra (as dismal as it sounds) a lot of the time.
Ah! See, now that I've unloaded and disbursed all my expectations, this Baco's tasting pretty good.

Mystic Pizza... sigh

Did anything good come out of the eighties? Jesus Keyrist. If you haven't seen this movie and you don't want me to give away key components of the plot, don't read on.
Where to begin. Okay, the clothes threw me. It's hard to take anyone seriously when they're wearing black nylons and a black cocktail dress with a big white bow on it and freaking patent black leather pumps. I think I saw a banana clip. And what's with all the hair? Oh! How about a t-shirt that fits, and jeans that don't go up to your tits?
Wow. Sorry about that. As I said: the clothes threw me. But I kept thinking, "the stellar acting will carry it". Julia Roberts and Vincent D'Onofrio did a good job (though I will admit that D'Onofrio is on my top ten list), but the rest was really overacted. I don't get it. Like, were these problems that were showcased in the movie quite groundbreaking back in the eighties? Intriguing... as I start to rail against it I'm starting to find a couple of good points. Okay, Julia Roberts' character seeing through her rich boyfriend's facade and calling him on it: that was actually good. And Lili Taylor's relationship with D'Onofrio was a little atypical because he was the one pushing for marriage, whereas she just seemed to be into it for the sex.
The rest was trite! The dinner scene where the serving girl knows Julia Roberts and starts chatting her up? Come on! No serving girl would be like, "hey, how in the hell are ya?" to a guest that she knew. And why did Vincent D'Onofrio have to marry Lili Taylor so badly? Couldn't they just have shacked up, snorted coke and worn really bad clothing for a couple of years like everyone else was doing?
The best part was the other girl who was trying to save money to go to Yale. So, besides slinging slices, she takes a job babysitting. Um, how much does babysitting pay? Take a job slinging drinks and get some tips, honey. Whatever. So she babysits and then oh! fucks the dad and is devastated when the wife returns from her travels in England and the dad doesn't acknowledge her. How did this girl get into Yale? She's stupid! Give me the scholarship: I can figure shit like that out right quick!
Right. It did make me want to have pizza, though. Not sure if that's a good thing.
Here are some good things: Michael, my blessed lover, ran the three bridges today. I say boo-yah for not letting the man keep you down and he is currently my A Number One Hero. He said The Killers' "All These Things That I've Done" came on while he was on the final leg up Keith Road and the song propelled him up the hill. I vaguely knew the song so I downloaded it, played it like five times while dancing around my kitchen. That song rocks. I understand that it rocked like two years ago, but clearly I was saving it for tonight. So I could dance around in my kitchen. By myself. On a Sunday night. Hey! I should get some cats.
I realize I'm blogging too much lately, but it's because I have verbal diarrhea and I'm just that irritating.
I think I might go dance around my kitchen some more.

My running clinic is messing with me

There was a run a couple of weeks ago that I didn't do (I hadn't yet re-committed to this whole marathon idea - sleep seeming like a better idea at the time), and some of the people that talked about it indicated that there was no way the run was 12 miles as they were under the impression it was, surely it was thirteen.
The same thing happened today. When this run was talked about at the clinic last week the term "fifteen miles" was bandied about. I looked at the route this morning and it said sixteen miles on it. And it turned out to be closer to seventeen miles. I know two miles doesn't seem like a lot, but after you've run fifteen miles and you still have to run along the seawall, over the Burrard Street bridge and back to Kits Beach when you thought you were supposed to done, it is far.
I'm not complaining: I did close to 17 miles today. That kicks ass. It was wet when I woke up, but it didn't rain on our run and we got to run from Kits to Science World, then along the seawall, around Stanley Park and back. Vancouver's a beautiful city and it was great to see so, so many groups of runners out today. I think we saw more runners than walkers! And almost everyone that came out today wore their clinic shirts which was cool (only I did feel a bit bad because I didn't want to infer that we had run from the North Shore, cause we ran from Kits, but then I don't feel too bad about it since in a month or more we will be running the infamous "three bridges" which takes us over the Ironworkers, Burrard and Lionsgate bridges).
Am I boring you with my running talk? Likely. Here's an update: my banana was touching my cookie and so when I ate the cookie it tasted like banana which pissed me off because I don't want my tasty cookies to taste like something healthy.
Now I'm really tired so I'm going to watch "Mystic Pizza" because I've never seen it, while waiting for Michael to call me from a pay phone, asking me to come and pick it up. He worked last night and got to bed at 4am, so he just left for his run about an hour ago. He tried to call me once from a pay phone and because I didn't recognize the number I didn't answer it. I'm still living that one down.
Oh, best ever wine news? Went to the new wine store on Marine called "Everything Wine" and it's basically like a grocery store, but with wine. Anyways, I thought to myself, "if this place can't help me, no one can" and I marched up to a perky employee and said, "Do you have any wines from Ontario?" to which she wrinkled up her nose as to say, "why ever would we have wines from Ontario?" (um, because they're tasty and we should promote Canadian wines, that's why??) and she's like, "I think we have a couple of wineries" and with baited breath I followed her, fingers crossed, hoping against hope to see the thing that I haven't had since I went to Mississauga when I worked for Hudd a million years ago and visited Niagara Falls and then did a wine tasting and fell in love with a certain wine only to find that pretty much one goddamn winery in the Okanagan produces it and it's like $28 a bottle when they're practically giving it away for free in the Niagara Region and there it was! A bottle of Baco Noir for $14.99! Miracles do happen.
I'm so excited I could nap!

Bed now?

So tempting to go back to bed. It's raining and a bit foggy and I still have to drive out to Kits just to get to my run. Yawn. Don't wanna do it, though once I get there I know everyone will be joking around and happy to see me. It'll be over in between two hours and two hours and fifteen minutes.
Kits. I wonder if we'll go for coffee afterwards in Kits, or if my fellow North Shore residents are like me, and can hardly wait to get over the Lionsgate to the magical 'other side'. When Kits people start moving to Lonsdale, I am moving to Edgemont. Or maybe Deep Cove.

I don't want to run 15 miles tomorrow

I just want to continue sitting here on my couch, reading Ferroever's blog, drinking wine and listening to KCSM.
I don't like when ambulances pull in to the hospital with sirens on: it means they're in a hurry to get back to the hospital because it's bad news. Bad news sucks.
I appreciate my life very much. I've been having a lot of fun lately. Didn't accomplish much of anything today which, if you know me, is groundbreaking.
Haven't seen Michael since Thursday. The poor guy is currently working (they started at 8pm). He won't be at the run tomorrow morning obviously, so hopefully I will see him later on in the day.
Hope Coco's interview went well today. Can't wait to see her and the gang on Friday.
Love my life!

Watching movies. Er, reading books, I mean.

I just watched "Vanity Fair". I'm about halfway done the book and, though it's a bit hard to follow, I'm greatly enjoying the trials and travels of Becky Sharp. I do recommend the movie too, though one does get more of the subtleties and nuances from the written word.
Here is the question: do I finish the book? I know how it all ends, so nothing will come as any sort of surprise. Ah, of course I will finish it: it's a good read.
Started Dune a couple of days ago for book club. I realize I've read the book before. And I think that a movie was made of it...

Access

Here's a blog posting from la old blog. If anyone wants access to the old blog lemme know and I'll ad ya. It was lame, yet bitter.

Grind, grind!
One of the perks (hmm, I may have to revisit the use of the word "perk" in this particular instance) of leaving work at 4pm these days is that I can now make the Wednesday night running clinic. This is the clinic that deals with such running nuances as speed and hills. Both are best avoided. In fact, I strongly discourage everyone from ever running a marathon. The only reason I'm still doing this is because I paid for it, and I'm cheap and I will not back out. Today we did hills. The concept is that you run up a 500 or 600 metre hill as hard as you can, then run down, and then do it four more times. We're working up to ten. I will simply say that the first one was easy. The subsequent ones, not so much. I bought a dorky water belt (since the only thing dorkier is bonking and ending up in the hospital with dehydration) and I was quite glad that I brought it along with me tonight. I tried to look cool as I rapidly depleted two of the little bottles and then stuck my tongue inside them to scrape out the last vestiges of moisture. Some guy gave me his phone number. I said, "Do you work for Canadian Springs?" and he said, "Uh, no" so I said, "Beat it then. And put your goddamn shirt back on: it's not that hot and neither are you".I also got a new cell phone today. It's something new and shiny to entertain me and distract me from the lack of romance, sex and affection in my life. So I'm playing with it on the bus ride home, adjusting the volume and what not and I get a call from work. Of course at this point I had the volume right cranked and no one on the bus is talking so it's like RING RING RING and everyone looks at me as I try to answer it while maintaining some semblance of coolness.And I downloaded the Scissor Sisters' "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" recently, and I totally dance in my apartment and crank it, even though it sounds like the BeeGees and there are handclaps and what sounds like rayguns being fired sporadically. Or what I think rayguns might sound like. I wish I had a raygun. That would distract me. I could shoot my fellow running mates and take their water. Pew pew!

Mean Girls/I'm drunk/Reminiscing

I just finished watching "Mean Girls". I'm a little late cause Michael called and we talked for almost an hour. Who does that? Allow me a brief tangent: there isn't anyone on this planet that gets me and that accepts me and that (for whatever incorrect reason) loves me as much as Michael. I know my family loves me, but I don't think they get me. Actually, I'm pretty sure no one gets me entirely but Michael's as close as it comes. He's more than a boyfriend or partner or husband or friend or lover. I don't know what he is, but I would be very forlorn if we no longer had random hour long conversations. I've never been so comfortable with someone in my entire life. Are you puking yet? Cause I'm feeling a bit queasy. I may randomly go outside and punch someone on Lonsdale to assert my overall manliness. I'm. Not. Gay.
Okay, back to "Mean Girls". Holy fuck. I hated high school something fierce and I hope to never re-live that whole fucking horrid scenario ever again. So, allow me to drunkenly blog about my adolescence cause I've got nothing better to do and I don't want to go to sleep like my last posting indicated because on a fundamental level sleep equals death or some damn thing. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light... and all that.
I recall being in Grade 1 and taking apart my watch and putting it back together, much to the dismay of my first grade teacher, Mrs. Kraft. I met Supermommy. I have known Supermommy for about 25 years. Ohmygod. I remember Mrs. Buckley playing CCR's "Looking Out My Backdoor" and thinking about it in the most innocent terms because I was only 8 or something. At some point a Commodore 64 was introduced into Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Wang's split class. I was in Grade 3 but I was reading Grade 4 books. I was bullied on more than one occasion: in one instance I lost a loose tooth; in another I was haphazardly beaten up and ended up cowering under a desk, half-crying. I wrote a nasty note to Tom Willie and had to write lines and remit them to the principal. In Grade 6 my teacher was Mr. Strauss and he would say to us, "If I told you you had a nice body would you hold it against me?" and would hug his students. I don't think he was a sexual pervert, but I do think he was mildly retarded. I remember telling my parents about the hugging when I was in my twenties and my dad hit the roof. I guess I just thought it was normal (why would adults want to do anything weird or unkind to kids?), but had I told my parents what the deal was when it was actually happening I'm pretty sure my dad would've knocked Mr. Strauss unconscious, which was fine, because he was a racist, sexist son of a bitch anyways. I saw him a few years ago and I remembered how ex-students used to come in to see him when they went on to high school and I thought that was so cool. When I saw Mr. Strauss at Minter Gardens with Michael I ignored him (he didn't see me). He wasn't cool: he was a narrow-minded bigot that was likely cheating on his wife. But he did encourage my creative writing abilities, so... there's that.
Let's see. Grade 8. High school. I wish I had a scanner so I could upload some of the heinous photos of me at that time. A boy asked me out in French Class in Grade 9 and I thought that he was teasing me, becuse I couldn't understand why anyone would want to date me. I fought back against a couple of girls that were chapping my ass. I was caught badmouthing another girl in our class and she marched resolutely into my Western Civilization class and backhanded me (I think Supermommy was there). I was totally stunned (I think everyone was). My parents were utterly perplexed and were like, "Uh... do you want to press charges?". No. I had badmouthed this girl and I deserved what I got. Don't badmouth people: it's pathetic and lame and I am sorry for it, to this day.
Nothing else of any great import happened in high school except that I developed an eating disorder (the remnants of which are still with me). I used to chew the food that I liked to eat (mainly Costco muffins) and then spit it out for my dog to eat. Yeah, I'm sure that every fourteen year old girl does that. I stole my parents car and got busted by my parents. I threatened to commit suicide because I was too fat. I graduated with honours. I was a virgin that didn't drink or do drugs (I wasn't corrupted until I was 18).
Um, so I pretty much hated my life in high school. The ironic thing was that I lost a lot of weight and started hanging out with a fast crowd (and I mean fast) when I graduated. One of the gentlemen - let's call him Bubba - told me that he assumed I had been on the cheer leading squad when I was in high school given the change in my physical appearance. And, given the crowd that I was running with, I remember Supermommy (though definitely not a super mom at the time) telling me that she was pretty sure that I had been caught up in the shit because of the crowd I was in with. I wasn't. I was such a fucking newbie. The only drug I've ever done is pot, and I'm really happy about that.
At work I'm quite popular. I seem to have attained the status that I likely always hankered for in high school, but I'm the same goddamn person. It's a bit of a fucking kicker, when you get down to it.
That's why, when I see the person that's out there, that's doing something different, I really try to appreciate what it is that they're trying to do. It's a fucking boring existence if we all look and act the same. I'm fundamentally the same as I was ten years ago, but people like me more now because I'm skinny (even though I weigh myself once a day, sometimes twice) and more ribald. Weird, eh?
This is where you shower me with compliments so I feel worthy enough to eat solid meal at breakfast tomorrow. THANK YOU MAINSTREAM MEDIA: this shit did not come from my parents.
Ah fuck, look at me whinging. Best life ever, babes. I've a great group of friends, the gents seem inclined to want to see me naked (even though I weight 124lbs today), what else could one want?

Hairdresser, thy name is Sarita

After being on the North Shore for eight months I have finally found my hairdresser. The other two were but red herrings, our relationships starting out promising, and then being defiled with missed appointments (hey, I showed up) and language barriers a la "Seinfeld" where I was pretty sure I was being spoken about in a foreign language (surely they were discussing my acerbic wit and ethereal beauty).

Today I met Sarita. She has a nose piercing, isn't too much older than me, asked a lot of questions as to what exactly I wanted done to my hair (the little bit that I have), gave me a bit of a head rub, laughed at my jokes, stowed my wine (which, upon purchasing, I was ID'd!!!), did I mention laughed at my jokes? And, because all hairdressers seem to do this, sent me out into the scary world looking like a dazed lesbian. What's with that? Hairdressers need to look at their patrons' hairstyles when they come in - because that's obviously how their clientele wishes to look - and then try and replicate it on their way out. I all but ran home because it was sticking up and I felt like a huge dork, but having been through this scads of times I knew it would be okay once I washed the product out and tried to make myself look like more of a boy, and less like a lot of the women that stroll Commercial Drive.

So, with my cool coif and floating on cloud nine because I was ID'd (though in retrospect I think the guy was hitting on me because he winked at me while I was standing in line) I decided to really live it up by renting 4 videos from Rogers and drinking alone (Prospect Point Pinot Blanc is very good). I. Am. So. Happy.

Well. Must hop to it. These movies aren't going to watch themselves. I am so unbelievably exhausted from this week. I'm secretly hoping that I fall asleep on the couch because for some reason this has become an objective of mine of late: it means that I have pushed it so hard that I can't even make it to bed. Normal people would maybe try not to push it so hard, but I've never indicated that I'm normal and I seem to have inordinate fear of missing something (I know not what) by going to bed.