Where's a Unisom When You Need One?

I can't sleep.

It's terribly late.  

I guess that much is obvious since it's tomorrow, even though for me it feels like yesterday should still be today. It also feels like everyone in the world but me is peacefully dreaming. Even the fashionable people.

 Le Sigh. 

A few realizations that this night/morning have brought home to me:

I am too damned old to drink large cups of coffee right before bed. If I have to get up to pee one more time, I'm going to drag my sleeping bag into the bathroom for the sake of efficiency. 

All of my Sunday School teachers' were right when they told me that once you let something into your head, it's in there for good. I know they were mostly talking about curse words and dirty pictures but I now know this also applies to pop songs with really dumb lyrics and questionable melodies. I never really cared that Kesha and her friends were (in their minds anyway) hot and dangerous or that they were in need of new stockings due to the fact that theirs were inexplicably torn up the sides. That hasn't stopped her voice from repeating these facts in my head for the last three hours. Shame on me for not recognizing good advice when it was being proffered.

I hate being too damned old for anything. Hate hate hate it. Hate it. I know. Waaa. I don't think there's anybody out there that loves it but, so what. That doesn't mean I have to be the first person to think it's awesome. 

Hate. It.

I just have to say that; in spite of the fact that all of my Sunday School teachers' would not approve, LoveSexMagic is the best. The back beat on this thing could make a corpse twitch. That's why I listen to it every time I sit down at the computer. Yes, even if it's the wee hours and not exactly what you'd call sleep inducing. If you're a member of the dirty dancing in music videos is responsible for the downfall of western civilization crowd, I wouldn't recommend clicking on the above link. Just know that you're also denying yourself the adorableness of a scruffy Justin Timberlake.

It's probably wandering into TMI territory (again) to mention how many times I've had to pee. Sorry about that. Don't tell my Dad I didn't say "use the restroom" instead of "pee". He'll have the missionaries over here to save the children from my coarseness.

Maybe I'm a closet egoist. If there is such a thing. 

After resisting for years, I finally saw Julie and Julia yesterday. I say resisted because I hate being in agreement with the whole world so didn't want to watch it and like it. There was such a big deal made out of Meryl Streep when it came out that I had a hard time. Okay okay. I know it's silly. Possibly more proof of my egoistic tendencies too.

 Anyway, I started to wonder when I was watching the part where Julie's husband tells her she's too narcissistic and she counters that she writes a blog and that's what blogging is. Something to that effect anyway. And here I am, making a goal to blog everyday. Writing about nothing and everything for all and sundry to see. Even though all and sundry would have to Google crap and road at the same time to actually see anything I put on here, it's still out there. Maybe the sick feeling of horror I got in the pit of my stomach when Julie gets excited when one of her posts gets 63 comments is really my defense mechanism to keep me from realizing what an egotist I have to be to even have a blog.

 Um.

 Am I just 3 posts away from navel gazing poetry and monologues about my yearning for Pokemon cards and how the moon landing was a hoax? Now my head hurts. By telling you that did I just prove how secretly eager I am to share all? 

Oh, I give up.

Really.

I'm going to bed.