eggs

who invented egg cartons? because whoever he/she is, he/she needs an award.

lately, i've been strapped for funds, so i've had to be a little wiser in my shopping choices. traditionally, i would go grocery shopping every 2 to 3 days... usually at different stores. that would partly be due to the available sales, and partly out of shame that i was grocery shopping every other day and i didn't want to endure the puzzled stares of the salespeople, who were surely asking themselves if i had a twin, or was realllly reallllly bored.

so i'd buy a plethora of frozen meals for lunch at work and dinner at home, and individually wrapped snacks that i could grab for breakfast. as far as convenience, this worked very well, except that individually packaged/wrapped things are expensive and run out too fast. because spending more than $20 in at a time always awakened some sort of cheapskate disdain in me, i rarely bought enough to get me through the week, let alone a few days.

currently, however, i do not have the funds for an ephemeral, yet convenient, food supply, nor can i afford the gas that it takes to get to a new grocery store almost every day.

so i've been cooking. i scour the grocery adds to find out what's on sale, then i scour the recipe sites to find out what i can make with those sale items... that won't take forever to make, won't won't be offensive to the olfactory sensors of my coworkers, won't require a degree from a culinary institute, and won't taste gross. it's been working very well, and is costing me much less. typically one shopping trip will get me food enough to last one week and usually costs me around 20 to 30 bucks.

anyway, to continue with the oodles of information that nobody really cares about... for dinner and lunch, i'll make a dish like stew, pasta, or meat and veggies. for snack, i buy a bunch of fruit to have whenever. for breakfast, i have some turkey bacon, toast, and a boiled egg. i'll usually boil 3 or 4 at a time (in case i decide that i really neeeeeed some scrambled eggs one day.

so i'd run out of eggs and had gone to the store and gotten some, along with all the fixins for this coming week, and since i hate taking double trips to and from my car, i jammed all 6 bags onto my strained fingers, threw my giant purse over my shoulder, grabbed my water bottle, and my boiled egg that i hadn't gotten around to eating that day, stuffed them all into one hand and, with great difficulty and concentration, shut and locked my car door. having surpassed the greatest hurdle, i figured that i was home free when (of course!) a bag slipped from my fingers... yes... just one... of the 6. and which bag would it happen to be? why, none other than the bag with the eggs in it. the eggs that i so dutifully checked in the store for cracks and other weirdness. so after all that effort, i was gonna end up with cracked eggs. rather than take that as a lesson to just expend the extra energy and take more trips to transport things from my car, i decided to just get pissy, and satisfy my rage and frustration by trying to open the house door without first putting any bags down. so as a burst through the door, with the most precarious grasp on my bags, i dropped them all to the ground, in relief... until i realized that i probably did dual damage to my eggs.

so i opened my carton, expecting to find a dozen albumin-oozing orbs, and mentally preparing myself for the scrambled eggs dinner that i would surely have to have that night... and what did i find? 12 in tact large grade a eggs... and i couldn't have been happier.

except that i might be a little happier if my stories were a little more interesting.

counting sheep

I've taken to counting sheep lately. It's a classic remedy to insomnia that never worked for me as a child. I dont quite understand how that concept is so prevalent in children's ideas about how to fall asleep, when there is probably the rare child whose attention span will allow him or her to get past sheep 7. or maybe that was just me. Usually i would just like in bed until my wandering thoughts became unbearable, then i'd turn the lights back on to read or draw, wait for my mother to discover that i hadn't yet drifted off and then to bring me a mixture of orange juice and brandy that was disgusting as well as extremely effective.

I often have fits of insomnia; more often recently than ever before. I became concerned when alcohol couldn't even break my body's determination to maintain its suffering. I gave up caffeine. In the interest of possibly losing the bags under my eyes, vision-blurring headaches, and face pain from constant yawning, i forwent my daily dose of coca cola... unless it was for breakfast... because then it would be keeping me up during the day... which was okay because, Lord knows, narcoleptic episodes aren't conducive to keeping jobs, or staying alive when you have to commute to those jobs. I bought a six pack of coca cola last week and how many are left in my fridge? 5! normally they'd be gone by day two. Though i long for the cool, refreshing, sugary, cola-ness, i need sleep more.

I try yoga. Yoga... is hard. Two minutes of it and i become significantly warmer. Three minutes and im sweating. At minute five, i'm cursing yoga's inception, and swearing that if i have to do 'downward dog' one more time that i'm gonna have to punch a puppy to make myself feel better. Afterwards, however, i must admit that i feel quite relaxed and very much relieved... to be done. I know then and there that i'm gonna have the best sleep that night... unfortunately lately that sleep doesn't usually come until the following day's afternoon.

I sleep on my hands. I don't know what it is about me but pressure on my limbs often puts me right out. Maybe i'm autistic. Sounds logical to me... at this hour. Sometimes i purposely pile a large portion of my wardrobe on top of my covers, then climb underneath carefully so as to not topple any onto the floor, because the weight of all the clothes relaxes me. In the summer, when it's too hot to do that, i choose sleep positions that involve me stuffing my arms underneath my person or pressed between my legs. If i sleep on a couch, cuz sometimes that helps, i'll jam my leg, and maybe an arm, between the cushions. Sometimes it works. During the bad insomnia, it doesn't.

I wonder if turning off the tv would help. This would be an obvious solution because i find that often, when i'm a few seconds away from the point of no return, something from the television will catch my attention and jar me from my potential sleep. I, however, am privy to information about me that you aren't... and that information is that i have an easier time falling asleep to really fascinating television programming, than to mouse noise. Not that i'm scared of them. Not that i haven't seen a family of mice run across the floor right to the foot of the couch that i was sitting on. Not that i haven't woken up to find a mouse crawling around like 10 inches from my head. They don't scare me... they just disgust me. So I just accepted that they're too smart for the traps, that there's nothing i can do, and then i turn on the tv and let denial take over. If i can't hear them, they must be gone, right? Right?

So turning off the tv's not an option. This led me to the old classic: counting sheep. The first night i'd gotten to the 360's... when i started severely jumbling the order of the numbers seconds before the sheep became melded into my crazy dream. It worked! The second night i only made it to the 200's. The next night, i don't even think i made it to 100, but that was because i got so bored with the fact that i was counting sheep, despite my mentally dying them various fall and neon colors, that i had to stop counting. I did, however, fall asleep soon after i had quit. The next night i decided to count colorful cows... and then ballerinas... and then b-boys. That was all one night... the week of little sleep is beginning to short circuit my ability to concentrate on one thing.

I suppose instead of sitting here blogging and watcing reruns of kim possible, i should be counting sheep, or purple washing machines jumping over a fence, or sheep jumping over purple washing machines, or dinosaurs. But i don't want to. I want to be able to just close my eyes and fall asleep. Sleep is one of the main things that i shouldn't have to work in order to achieve. Geez! Where's my mom with orange juice and brandy when i need her?

crest me

so i had the craziest dream.

I was back in my mother's house... getting ready for high school. I had plenty of time and was preparing to take a shower when i realized, to my despair, that i had nothing to wear yet. So my sister, whom i hated, birth through high school, kindly and oddly, began offering her outfit-finding services of her own volition. While i ran to get ready, worried that i would miss the bus, she calmed me down, telling me that she would give me a ride and that i didn't have to rush so much. This should've clued me in to the fact that i was dreaming. Never mind the fact that my sister was away at college when i was in high school... she was being nice to me!

So i do the normal morning routine... brush my teeth first, then wash my face, because i've had several mornings where i later discover toothpaste foam stains on my face after it dried completely, making it look as though i hadn't washed it at all. After i wash my face, i look up into the mirror and notice something odd. The gap between my teeth is much larger than usual.

I've always been self conscious about my teeth. My sister had perfectly straight teeth, and a beautiful smile. I, on the other hand, didn't have the great fortune to have teeth practically growing out of my nose when i was young, and therefore did not need braces as my sister had. I, who only had a small gap and a few teeth slightly out of place, was being constantly reassured by mom that i didn't need braces because my teeth weren't that bad... yet i shouldn't smile in pictures. Years of friends reassuring me that my gap was just the right size to fit my features and many random complements by strangers convinced me that i had a beautiful smile regardless, and slowly healed the wounds.

So imagine my horror upon looking in the mirror and realizing that i must've had blinders on all these years because my gap was larger than i'd thought, and by no means fitting. Then i took a closer look and noticed that it wasn't centered. A whole section of my teeth was shifted completely to the right. Then i took an even closer look. My tooth was missing! I began to mumble (with a lisp) that this couldn't be happening and that there was no way. I searched frantically for my tooth and found it in the sink where i must've spit it out after brushing my teeth. I picked it up out of the sink, and without bothering to wash the soap off of it, shoved it into the space in my mouth, trying to find a notch where it could get caught, hoping that some vacuum in my gums would hold it in. Every time my tooth would pop out of my gums, i would pop it back in, holding it there for a longer period of time with my forefinger, hoping that if i held it a long enough time, it would stay.

I ran downstairs to the kitchen to ask my mother for help, hoping that maybe she would know of some obscure home remedy for pasting teeth to gums, at least long enough to make it through a school day, giving me enough time outside of scrutinizing eyes, to figure something out... like making a replacement out of papier mache, or a chiclet or something.

She, of course, had no immediate solution, though she did offer to help me financially with an operation that would replace it. Though i appreciated the help, it didn't solve my current situation of how not to be teased to death by my peers. I didn't even think to ask to stay home for i knew that in my mother's house, there was no skipping school unless death was looming.

Then i woke up, relieved... not that it was just a dream, but that i knew i wasn't in high school anymore, and that my teenage peers would not be devouring my self esteem. Worry quickly ensued as i wondered how i was going to afford fixing my teeth, when i finally thought to check whether there was still an unwanted dental vacancy. I can't describe my relief as i ran my tongue smoothly over my top row of teeth, stopping only at my normal-sized gap.

So let's analyze... the dream speaks loudly of my insecurity about the way i look. My sister? Maybe i feel like there's a new camaraderie on the horizon for us? Hard to imagine... we're not exactly close now, but i certainly don't hate her anymore... i might even kinda like her... a little. The financial assistance with the operation? Lol... straight out of real life. My mom offered to help me financially with further education, which i'm incredibly grateful for, but it doesn't solve my immediate problem of not knowing what i want to do with my life. I don't want to waste her money on a degree path that i don't end up using. So back to how i look... i'm not obsessing am i?... i'm cute. I know i am. But i spent a better part of my life having no idea, and now that i know, i still feel like i'm never as cute as the people around me. That's a problem, because it's not like i'm walking around with a giant and lopsided gap.

the missing teeth dream is obviously warning me not to put so much importance on the way that i look, because even though they might not express it the way i'd like them too (i.e. telling me i'm beautiful inside and out), my family loves me and will support me in the truly important things when i need them to.

Oh well... back to my breakfast of coca cola and chocolate chip cookies...

telephone

I hate the phone. I've never thought of myself as being able to express myself well verbally. I can write, and text, and instant message, only because it gives me plenty of opportunity to gather my thoughts, and carefully choose the right words to use in order to express the appropriate sentiment. I also like that i don't have to respond to the other's statement if i don't want to.

So i avoid my phone like plague. Unfortunately, it never takes long enough for someone to leave me the fatal message (or for me to check the fatal message that was left 2 weeks and 19 messages ago)...that says: 'call me and let me know that you're not dead.' the words usually ring of frustration and sarcastic concern. Sorry... y'all know the deal. You wanna contact me... learn to text.

My mother called me back sunday. Three times. I answered the third call. She was surprisingly compassionate and understanding of my situation... didn't nag me too much... gave me a little bit of motherly advice. I suppose if i can't visit or buy a card on mother's day, at least i can take the occasional call.

movin on...

i'm dumb... because when i don't know quite what to do... i don't do anything. like when i hear a dog barking ferociously and i don't know where it's coming from...my crippling phobia of canines causes me to freeze. as if the dogs vision is only triggered by motion, and my standing perfectly still is the only thing that will keep me safe.

well in this case, i didn't know how to deal with my mother's day faux pas, so i did nothing. i guess i just felt that if i sent a late card, she would've thrown it in my face because it was late.
if i sent an extravagant bouquet, she would've thrown it in my face that i needed to send an extravagant bouquet since i didn't do jack for mother's day. and she was so short with me on the actual day when i tried to talk to her, that i assumed she wasn't really trying to hear my voice this week. or if she was, she was really only just waiting for the opportunity to tell me what a screw up i am. i know i'm a damn screw up! i don't need the confirmation...

so now it's officially too late because she sent me an email expressing her disappointment. oh well... i'll just roll with how we do... move on like it didn't happen, and deal with the surreptitious remarks about my character or lack thereof. whatever. i'm still her favorite.

mother's day... so to speak

So i might be the worst daughter ever.

Not that it's an excuse but last week had been an insanely hectic one in which i got far less sleep than any non-insomniac human should ever get if they're not a college student or in med school. I might have been okay if it weren't for the tons of obligations that i had to fulfill. Despite all of that, i was still ready to make the long trek to my mom's house to celebrate mother's day.

she called saturday to let me know that the family was planning on an early brunch. I had an obligation at church, so i told her that i wouldn't be able to make it until later. She suggested that it would be a big hassle for me to have to come all the way down there, only to have to return a few hours later. She however finished with a promise to call later to confirm what was actually going to happen.

When i arrived home from church on sunday, i passed out on the couch with the complete expectation that by 2 or so, i would receive a call informing me whether or not i was expected.
Imagine my surprise when at 4 something-ish, she calls and asks where i am. In my just-startled-awake-from-a-world-numbing-sleep fog, i responded,

'.......what?... umm. What?'

see, i couldn't understand why she would ask me where i was, as if we had definitively agreed that i was supposed to have come down already... and she couldn't understand my post-sleep gibberish. She says, with guilt-trip soup soaking every word,

'i guess you're not coming then.'

honestly... i really didn't want to... my appetite for sleep had yet to be satiated, and it was raining... and i had no gas in my car... and my tires are bald. It was mother's day though... so i was willing to go regardless. I told her several times that i would come. Unfortunately, that didn't exactly come through in my tone, my sympathy buffers having been broken down by sleepy delirium.

I don't remember much after that, except that i fell back asleep until 6ish, when my mom called me again and hastily reminded me to call my grandmothers. I had a nice conversation with my fathers mom and was old-school dissed by my mom's mom, the whole ordeal being confirmed afterwards on the phone, by my little cousin who had stopped by to visit her.

'well, i just got yelled at.', said i...
'yeeeaaah, you did... goddamn!'...

well thas what he would've said if grandma wasn't right there.

Well now i don't know what to do. It was really a misunderstanding. I maybe would've been more sensitive if i hadn't just awaken from a comatose state, but now mother's day is over, and she hasn't seen me... or really spoken with me. I guess i'll have to buy a sweeeeet gift and somehow find the sappiest card (maybe on sale since it's after mother's day!) and go visit next week. Maybe i'll take a really long nap before i go.

deficit

I often wonder about the overuse of medication in today's society... especially with children. I mean, do we medicate overactive children because we don't want to deal with behaviors? Maybe they reach that point because of lack of discipline or conversely, lack of tolerance for how a child is supposed to act. Like... is there an actual physiological explanation behind the diagnosis of a.d.d? Ooh i should look that up right now!... no wait... focus... what was i saying? Oh yeah... i think i have add.

I've looked over the criteria that doctors give parents and teachers to determine whether a child has a.d.d. And i have to admit that very few of the criteria described me. I was never the type to torture animals or threaten people with stuff. I am, however, insanely disorganized. I know you're probably thinking that some people are just born neat freaks and others just aren't... but you take a look at my room and try to tell me that something isn't wrong.


This is the dilemma,

what i see when i look at my room: the reflection of the state of my mind; a place where everything is readily available and out in the open

what you see: an anomaly; how could hurricane katrina have hit new orleans then, without damaging anything in between, become completely localized within one room of one house several states away?


I don't know what to do with the big picture. It goes beyond lack of experience for i doubt this is a problem that could be cured with simple practice. When i approach general situations, it's not that i can't decide which route to take... it's that everything disappears from my mind; not just potential strategies for a grand overhaul, but everything. I end up thinking about colors, or spinach, or how i should start a blog or something. I can only handle little details, which might explain why in the midst of my disastrous room, all my clothes that are put away, are neatly folded in a particular and identical way, and arranged according to color on bookshelves.


What i see: order and happiness.

What you see: my insanity.

a.d.d.? Maybe not. They say the problem with a.d.d. is paying attention to too much; taking everything in at once and then not knowing how to break it down such that normal function is possible. oh well. gotta clean my room. or maybe i'll make some earrings... or go to atlanta.