Crash
Salutations, readers. Did you think I had abandoned you?
Oh please.
I should begin by saying that the sickness has left my system – literally, and glory hallelujah. The only person that knows the specifics of my Monday is my mom, and I’m uncomfortable with even her knowing. It was… I can’t even go there. Let’s change the subject.
So here I am, back in Denver.
Time, catapult me out of August already. August has spread me thinner than a hipster – and it isn’t even over yet. I hate running on no reserves.
I’ve said before that I believe that our number one act of spiritual worship should be getting enough sleep. Last weekend, Greta told me that she recently read that the most important factor in a woman’s happiness is whether or not she is well-rested. How do parents of babies function? This is an absolute mystery to me. I don’t even own a house plant, and yet I am crashing – crashing like… why is the only metaphor I can think of “like Kanye at a Taylor Swift speech”?
See. Crashing.
When I’m crashing, I lose creativity, and get all inconsolable about things like the cardboard box in the corner of my living room. It’s just sitting there – but it’s just been sitting there since I moved in in January. I don’t know where to put it. I don’t know what to do with it. It’s just THERE, taunting me with its displacement.
Twenty-eight years old is too old to get zits – but then again, Annie Parsons has never been a quitter.
I get irrationally annoyed at bad writing (in the interest of spying on people, I subscribe to some truly horrible blogs), and text messages in which every sentence ends in exclamation points!!!! This is not the way you talk!!!!! Calm the hell down!!! You’re wasting your 160 characters!!!!!
Give my hackles a chance to settle down, and then I’ll tell you about my trip to Seattle last weekend. Crashing or not, I can tell you right now that it was blissful.
share:
Glad you’re feeling better. I think that sleep is a most excellent restorative, so hopefully you can get a mega dose.
I don’t want to burst your bubble (or pop your pimple) but I still get acne & I’m 46. Of course at this point I can predict it pretty well: Dana did not wash her face for the entire weekend, therefore Dana’s chin will look like a minefield on Monday. My own fault.
Yes, bad writing is rampant!
I personally LOVE GETTING TEXTS IN ALL CAPS WITH THE EXCLAMATION POINTS!!! FOLLOWED BY LOL AFTER EVER SENTENCE!!! LOL!!!
Simmer down… now.
I want to eat that salmon right off the screen!!!…!!! And yes, as I have now hit 10 full months without a full night’s sleep, I can attest that lack of sleep zaps creativity and motivation like no other. Thankfully, a baby clapping for himself after taking his first crawling “paces” across the floor does much to restore the soul.
oh, lord….i swear i didn’t copy this post. i’ve got grown-up zits of my own to deal with.
I hope I’m not the one you are commenting about: “I get irrationally annoyed at bad writing (in the interest of spying on people, I subscribe to some truly horrible blogs).”
“This is not the way you talk!!!!! Calm the hell down!!! ” Thank you for the joy I received while reading that. It’s hard to express that kind of anger in words but you did it with great poise and grace…!!!!!!!!
Well, I’ll be honest, when I read the last sentence and saw the cute happy otters/possibly seals, I thought it was a visual metaphor for how blissful your weekend was, which I found incredibly creative.
And continuing on with the complete honesty, your worst and least creative blog entry is by far better than my best. You are a blogging superstar.
I’m just telling you:
Communicating that your frustration with exclamation points is very much like being back in elementary school and telling a bully to “stop calling me that.”
You’ll get nothing but embellished enthusiasm from here on out. Which is great if you’re emailing Ty Pennington but…