Happy Valentine’s Day!

Here’s my version of a Valentine’s Day post. Enjoy!

Being chronically single, there are definitely times where I really yearn to be with someone and then there are times where I’m thankful for being alone. I’m sure the same can be said for people who are in relationships as well.

For me, both of these extremes become very apparent when I’m sick. I spent the better part of this week sick at home, so it became very clear in my mind just how much (and how quickly) I can flip flop on this particular subject.

For example, when I was at home laying on the couch wishing for death, the only thing that could make it more bearable was some juice, or soup, or something. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to have someone come and take care of me.

I was too sick to fend for myself. This actually happens more than I care to admit. There have been so many instances that I’ve developed a coping mechanism. I don’t like to drink juice full strength; I like to water it down. It’s easier on the stomach, if that’s not doing so great.

So I set up shop on the couch; I grab my tetrapak of juice out of the fridge, a glass and fill up a 1L container of water. I bring all the things to the couch and fill up my glass as I need. I do need to get up from time to time to refill my water, but much less than if I actually had to fill my cup up every time. In fact, if I invested in a larger measuring cup, I could reduce those trips down even further. Food for thought.

I’m still pretty much fucked if I need to get something to eat, but let’s just say, I got reserves.

On the other hand, when I’m disgustingly sick and things are coming out of places that no one needs to see, I’m fairly happy that I live alone.

But those instances are usually few and far between, besides realistically, the person I’m with better be okay with holding my hair back and cleaning up some puke when I miss the toilet. Or the bathroom altogether.

But nothing makes it hit home quite like it did the other night. I was very sick; in a lot of pain, had a pretty bad fever and a terrible cough. Plus I was covered in hives (an unrelated, yet agonizing, matter).

Even though I drugged myself up to “get a good nights’ sleep”, I still woke up constantly with scratching or coughing. Or alternating between kicking the blankets off and then scrambling to get them back on because I was shivering. And if that wasn’t enough, rolling over caused enough pain from my massive body aches (and probably hives) that I actually groaned audibly.

My first thought was that I hoped my upstairs people couldn’t hear me and/or weren’t being woken up by my agony. My next thought went to what it would actually be like if I was in a relationship; what if I was sharing my bed with someone. Times like these, I know one thing is certain.

Meh – small price to pay to have someone bring me soup, right?

Sleeping on the Couch

Couch sleeping happens from time to time. Sometimes, I fall asleep watching a movie or TV, wake up and go to bed. Sometimes, when I want to have a nap, but don’t want to “really sleep”, I cozy up on the couch. Sometimes, when I can’t fall asleep at night, I get out of bed and go to the couch for a change of scenery. Regardless of how it happens the outcome is almost always the same: not a very good sleep and a good chance of a kink in the neck.

But for some reason, when Danny & I were growing up, it was a big, damn deal for us to sleep on the couch. I remember us hassling Mom for permission on a pretty regular basis.

Reluctantly, she would let us, knowing full well that would we stay up well past our bedtime watching Love Connection (don’t ask me why, but we loved that show). The only problem was, at that time, we only had one couch and Danny was older, taller and stronger than me.

I always got the chair.

Still, I always wanted to sleep on the couch, even with knowing that I would never actually sleep on the couch.

Maybe I was a light sleeper (or maybe I was a light sleeper because I was sleeping in a chair), but I can remember being woken up a few times while sleeping in the living room.

As you may or may not remember from this post, I’m somewhat of an active sleeper; I talk, I walk, I … do who knows what else, really. I guess this is a hereditary trait because I distinctly remember getting woken up by my brother talking in his sleep one night on the couch.

I remember Danny talking so loudly and clearly, that I thought I’d slept late and he was up and about already. I opened my eyes, it was pitch black and Danny was sleeping soundly beside me. I can’t remember all of what was said, but I got the impression that Danny was dreaming about playing football. He never played football.

I was confused as to what had woken me; I started considering that perhaps I’d dreamt the commotion. I was about to snuggle back into my blanket, when…

He practically yelled it and he was dead asleep.

It wasn’t always my brother making noises that woke me up. Once I remember being woken up by the sounds of non-so-distant, but very quiet, whimpering. Non-human whimpering.  When I woke up enough for thought processes to be formed, I quickly caught on to what was happening.

On the foot of the couch; on my brother’s sleeping bag.

I think that may have been the last time we slept on the couch.

 

Merry Christmas!! And fear not, my friends, a post about my trip to Cuba will happen!

How do you spell “relief”–part two

Here’s a series of posts I never knew was going to happen… and now that I think of it, I might even have a part three up my sleeve. For part one, go here.

I distinctly remember the last time I wet the bed.

I was about 6 or 7; far too old to be wetting the bed. I was ashamed. I was confused. And I never told anyone about the events leading up to “the incident”.

I was sleeping soundly, oblivious to the fact that my tiny 6 year old bladder was progressively filling with that last glass of juice I had before bedtime.

Very few dreams stick with you. More often than not, they slip away from you just as you open your eyes and all that’s left is the sensation of what kind of dream you had: “Well… that was a weird dream…”.

Yet, 27 years later, I still remember the dream I was having the last time I wet the bed.

For some reason, I was dreaming about The Cosby Show. The Huxtables were in bed, Mrs. Huxtable was reading a book and Cliff was being a jackass as per usual. He may or may not have been trying to get some.

The dream was a weird combination of me watching the situation unfold (like it was on TV) and being in the bed with them; as them. It was a weird combination of being both The Huxtables at the same time. It was a fucked up out of body omniscient experience.

I remember being Cliff and feeling the sweet relief as his/my bladder emptied, then as Clair, feeling the disgusting warmth spread from his side of the bed to hers/mine. She was shocked and appalled; he was relieved and not as embarrassed as he should have been. As she was screaming at him for wetting the bed, I started gaining consciousness.

My bed felt warm, yet cold, and wet; I woke up and found myself lying in my own puddle of shame. I remember getting up and going to tell my mom what happened (less The Cosby Show dream, of course) and how mad she got as she stripped the wet sheets off my bed. I stood sheepishly in the corner, my head hung downward, avoiding eye contact at all costs. It had been a couple years since my last nighttime accident; she thought I’d outgrown it as much as I had.

After that, every so often, I would have a similar dream (although not featuring The Cosby’s). Basically, I would dream that I needed to go to the bathroom and when I finally found one, that familiar relief would wash over me. I would wake up in a full-blown panic; hoping beyond hope that my bed was dry and my bladder was full. They always were, but I was always afraid that one time, they wouldn’t be.

Over time, that dream has occurred less and less, but, oddly enough, I had that dream last week. It hadn’t happened in such a long time that I had blocked out the memory completely; it’s like it never happened. But as I woke up with a slight feeling of dread, all I could think about was the time that Bill Cosby wet the bed. Never again, will I be able to look at Bill the same.

And now, neither will you.

Girl talk with my gal pals

I’ve really sucked at this writing thing lately. And I don’t really have an excuse… Sure, I’ve been busy “doing things”, but that’s not even the real reason. Fact is, even with all developments in my life, I still have time to write, I just don’t seem to actually do it.

This isn’t the first time it has happened and it certainly won’t be the last. But I will make an effort to start writing again. Or at least, I’ll think about writing again. Because having a post idea is about 1/3 of the battle anyway.

So, what have I been doing with my time? To be honest, mostly Thailand. Sure, work, school, getting out in the sun, watching movies, blah, blah, blah. But if I had to pinpoint the thing that keeps me up at night, it would have to be Thailand.

Literally.

And just because you’re all dying to know the goings-ons, allow me to elaborate. I guess we’ve been officially seeing each other for two months now. I said officially, but in all honesty, there isn’t anything official about it because I can only call him “the guy I’m seeing” and not something else with an official label, like “boyfriend” or “back off, he’s mine”.

Six months ago, when I was still friends with K, this probably would have driven me bat-shit-crazy; the relationship wouldn’t have lasted this long because I would have turned into a high-maintenance-crazy-what-does-this-all-mean girl. Who am I kidding… I never would have even met him if I was still friends with K. I guess it’s safe to say that things have changed for me since my best friend stopped being my best friend.

And even though I know we’ve been seeing each other long enough that it’s okay to have the discussion about what we’re doing and where things are going, I just don’t care. I was talking to my mom about it the other day. She asked if we were “an item” yet; I told her nothing was official. She said that if he’s sleeping over, then we must be an item; I said we were definitely something. She said that if I’m happy and enjoying myself then that’s all that really matters; I said that I am both of those things and it really doesn’t bother me… a girl’s gotta eat and I was starved for years.

(I’m really thankful that I can have that kind of conversation with my mother and it’s not awkward.)

Anyway, there was a period of time where I was convinced that we were just fuck buddies and that it wasn’t going anywhere. Surprisingly, I was okay with that revelation. Turns out it only lasted about 2 days, because things started changing after that.

For one, he started telling me things. Personal things. Things that aren’t part and parcel with pillow talk. Things you don’t tell the girl you’re just fucking. Second, he bought me a birthday gift. A really thoughtful birthday gift. A birthday gift that indicated that he was listening to what I say. Third, we started spending time together, and not just between the sheets. Sometimes he comes over and we watch a movie. Sometimes he sleeps over and we don’t have sex. Sometimes I see him and we just talk. And fourth, he has told me repeatedly that’s he’s not seeing anyone else and he’s not sleeping around.

These are very good things and I have to say, I’m pretty fricken pleased with how things are going, even though I have no idea where things are going. Eventually, I’ll have to have the discussion with him, but until the day comes where I need to know (you know, when you develop real feelings and junk), I’m happy doing what I’m doing.

Okay, now onto the funny part (a.k.a. the real reason I’m telling you all of this.. I’m not bragging, I swear!). And I apologize in advance if this falls into the TMI category.

I’m allergic to latex. I have to buy very specific condoms, specifically, non-latex condoms. They can be quite difficult to find and if you ever look around, you’ll notice that there are only two kinds of non-latex condoms. So, one day after purchasing a new supply, I was turning the box over in my hands, looking for the “open here” part when something caught my eye.

I nearly peed myself laughing.

The Big Bang Theory

I mentioned that I've been working like crazy. Here's how my days are shaping up lately. I wake up (usually late), I feel tired/shitty/sick, I drag myself out of bed/house and go to work. While there, I run around in a decapitated chicken like manner. After far too many hours of not eating, working too much and losing at foosball, I head home, gorge myself on whatever is accessible (pizza, vodka, whatever) and head to bed.

Of course, Murphy's Law kicks in and no matter how tired I was all day (or even moments before), as soon as I get in bed, I start thinking about all the things I need to do the next day. Inevitably, it gets later and later yet my brain keeps churning away.

Eventually, I decide I might as well be doing something and pick up my book and start reading. Even though it's an alright book and even though I'm enjoying it, switching gears from reality to fantasy is enough to make me fall asleep.

I wake up shortly after with the book on my chest and the light still on. I shut everything off and then have a hard time falling back asleep. I toss and turn and think about all the things I need to do. No wonder I'm waking up feeling tired/shitty/sick every morning.

Last night was no exception to this sequence of events. Except... instead of waking up with the book on my chest, something else woke me. It took me awhile to realize what had done it, since I was in a semi-dream state; a little disoriented. That's when I heard it. And it was loud. My neighbour having sex right above me.

It wasn't just a little loud; it was really loud. And it wasn't just a little bit of sex, it was a lot of sex. Okay, it wasn't that much because it only lasted about 7 minutes. But still. Quite the rude awakening, let's say. But like all things, there's always the silver lining.

The funny thing about all of this, is not the fact that it took me two hours to fall back asleep. No, no. You see, the people that lived above me before, were heavy walkers and bathroom talkers. I assumed those two factors were the reason I could hear them. All. The. Time.

In the nearly 5 years that they lived above me, I never once heard them have sex. I kinda thought that maybe the house was actually insulated (or at least the portion of ceiling between the bedrooms), and the only reason they drove me insane was because they're heel-walkers and like to have conversations with each other while one is in the bathroom and the other is in the kitchen.

Granted, my old neighbours were a good, Christian, couple. So naturally, they don't enjoy sex at all. But still. To go from hearing nothing, to being woken up and hearing that, was a bit of a shock to the system. I'm really glad she's not into tantric.

Talk about misdirected anger!

I've been known to talk in my sleep. I used to do it a lot as a kid, but as I've gotten older, my tendency to talk has diminished. In my sleep, that is; apparently, my tendency to talk in real life has only gotten worse.

There were times when I would be sleeping soundly.

And having a nice dream, that perhaps got a little too vivid.

Since I was asleep, I'd just go right on sleeping.

My brother, however, would be getting home from work and he would hear me in my room, talking.

He'd wonder what the commotion was all about and would come in to check on me. Only to find me alone. And asleep.

I would continue blissfully sleeping, but I would also interact with him. Repeating whatever the hell I was just talking/dreaming about.

He never understood what I was saying. I would keep repeating it, getting louder and louder and more and more agitated, just trying to make him understand.

It wouldn't work. I would just keep yelling and he'd keep saying "WHAT?!?!". To me, (in my sleep-riddled-semi-dream-world) I was being very clear. Enunciating each word carefully and loudly. I didn't realize that, to him (the person that was awake and functioning), I was just a garble-mouth that was making no sense whatsoever.

He would end up walking out and shutting my door. In the morning I would wake up with my door closed and a vague recollection of talking to my brother but I would have no idea what we talked about. And neither would he.

 

Big thanks to EliseArt for lending me her tablet so I could draw these terrible pictures. I totally think I'm buying a tab. I'm sorry.