the most random and shiftless post of all time.
and the photo has no relevance either. save for the fact that those are my very own havaianas.
Every night, I put on my Old Navy pjs (charcoal gray), unclip my locks, crawl into bed (one duvet, no topsheet, four pillows), snuggle up with my iBook (name: Martin, just like my imaginary penguin), rub a little Origins "Peace Of Mind" into my temples (mmm... minty), and attempt to stall my mind out to the point of near-stillness.
After all, a girl's gotta sleep.
Except that she doesn't. Nope. Not a bit. She lies awake, she thrashes about like a spawning salmon, and ends up staring at the clock at 3:45 am, thinking, "Two more hours."
And then she falls asleep. But not for long.
Oh, the groggitude of the 5:45 am alarm. Oh, the pain of wrenching oneself from a warm, soft bed. Oh, the chill of the early morning shower and the waves of cold coming off the pale tiles. Oh, the soft scent of almond-y shower creme when really, you just want to push your nose into your own pillow (which smells like lavender and chamomile.) Oh, the rush to the preprogrammed coffee maker to swill the brown elixir of survival.
It's all so jarring.
But I do it five days a week. And it feels like many, many more than that.
So.
Tonight, I thought I'd try a little something. I thought I'd try clearing out my brain BEFORE I went to sleep, in the hopes that such an offensive action might increase the chances of creeping somnolence in the hours to follow.
I'm not saying it's going to be linear. I'm certainly not saying it's going to be interesting. But it might be useful. And that, my dear ones, is what matters.
I never claimed to be an entertainer. I only claimed to have a blog. And here it is:
Have you ever wondered why some "movie stars" are famous? Why certain people attract followings and fanzines and friskiness from the opposite sex? Why they are so adored?
When they appear to have no charisma whatsoever?
Here is my list of "Why? WHY?" celebrities. And it's nothing personal, I assure you. I'm not saying they lack something. I'm saying that I obviously haven't caught the magic... as yet:
Hayden Christiansen
Claire Forlani
Ellen Pompeo
Brad Pitt (!)
Lindsay Lohan
Paul Walker
Fiddy Cent
Dido (Okay, this one is a particular bugaboo of mine. Is she singing ON KEY? Did I just say BUGABOO?)
I just. do. not. get. it. But many of you seem to, and thus, good for them!
Okay, next thought. I'm thinking that the internet is much bigger than I used to think it was. And of course, much more creepy. But, at the same time, much more funny and interesting and cute, for that matter. Like the guy friend every girl has had at some point that we don't see the value of until we're dating his brutish friend and we just wish we could spend time drinking coffee with Mr. Nice instead of Mr. Sexy-For-About-Ten-Minutes.
Yeah. Back to the internet.
I suddenly love Threadless tees, and PostSecret, and Naked and Angry, and Encylopodia, and Cute Overload, and Will Pate, and McSweeney's Lists, and Del.icio.us, and Ricky Gervais, and... so, so much more. I just come across things while researching at work or surfing at home, and think something along the lines of...
"Oooh! Pretty!"
"Oooh! Cool!"
"Oooh! Useful!"
"Oooh! Want!"
And then I want a pretty web site with a good domain name that anyone can remember, and then I want to come up with beautiful visuals, and then I want to write something subdued and perfect and wise, and then I want my camera that fell out the window back so I can take excellent photos, and then I want to design t-shirts, and then I want to be... creative.
I sure don't feel so creative lately.
Also, coffee isn't tasting as marvelous as it used to. WHAT IS WITH THAT. I can't unlove coffee. That would be too much of an indignity. I need to find a new drink, a new roast, a new something or other.
I also need to find a spring coat. I am such a coat snob. I don't like coats. Well, I do, but they are all cute coats, classic coats, lovely coats... not edgy coats or sporty coats. I can't let go of wanting to be some variation on Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly or freakin' Mary Tyler Moore. This look is apparently unavailable.
If I liked Hello Kitty, I'd totally be set. But really. I turn 32 next month. Kitten heel, yes. Kitten clothes, no.
OOOH! GUYS! I became a Costco person today, or as I like to call it Lostco, since it always eats me alive and makes me buy things I do not need. I am now officially a member of the cult of the Giant Box Store That Is Not Wal Mart, having procured a membership through my employer. I always rode someone else's Costcoattails, but now? NOW?? Now I can march on in and flash my card (and only my card!) and open myself up to a warehouseful of options.
Great. Just what I needed. More decisions.
On a more urgent note, I just sneezed 13 times in a row. Apparently, allergy season has come early to Planet Meg, and an entire field of spores and mosses and budlets has taken residence in my nasal passages. I remember going to the allergist as a young girl and taking those hideous tests where they poke you full of holes and shove allergens into your skin to see what you'll react to.
Ten minutes after they did it, I looked like bubble wrap.
Now, 19 years later -- 19 years of technological and medical advancement -- I am lying around listening to my sinuses pop and crack like an old house bathed in sunshine.
Except that it's eighty times less romantic and seventy times more drippy.
Much like Hayden Christiansen.
My friend said to me the other day that my main problem in life was that I was always waiting for it to sparkle. For it to be just about 10% more special than anyone expected it to be. That I wanted life to exclude allergy attacks and boredom and awkward moments and smelly shoes and greasy dishwater and blue-tinted food and carnival workers. That I was hoping for an idyll.
Do I give off this impression? Do I seem that dozy? Because I love raw in everything from sushi to mountain ranges to windburnt-sailing-face to acoustic performance.
But perhaps he's right. Maybe my grasping for bliss is nothing more than a chasing after the wind.
Maybe nothing will ever be as perfect as my oceancottagewhitetrimmedlemonscented
sandyfootedjazzlisteningskirttwirlingbabyticklingheartsingingcoffeesippingartmakinglamprewiring
hockeywatchingbreadbakingworldtravellinghandholdingoldmanwinkingcompulsivebloggingopera
goingtheatrepatronchoirjoiningsunhatwearingcocoabutterblueskywindowsdownsummerdaylong
drivinghopes.
But if I can't smile and dream about it, why fall asleep at all?
Which I should likely try for... now.
Love to all... really. You'd be surprised how much, you know.
1:14:40 AM 
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