I woke up one fine morning to a sea of black in front of my eyes. Not darkness, but pitch-black something. Aside from the confusion, for a hot second I sorta thought I had died. Then I realized there was something covering my face, so I reached up, and it turned out it was just Tinkerbell sleeping on my face. I’m guessing she was using my pillow as a bed, but then I was taking up too much room, so she decided to use my face, instead.
I wish I could say this only happened once, but Phoebe, who would let us use her as a pillow but then would chase dogs three times her size down the street, also had a liking for sleeping on my pillow. I once woke with her sleeping so close to my face that I had to wonder if I had foiled a well-planned attempt to smother me in my sleep. When I tried to move my head, she turned around, and bopped me on the head.
The moral of this story is that you shouldn’t let your cats use your face as a pillow, otherwise you might think you died.
You know when you’re driving around, listening to Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” and then he sings “are there any queers in the theatre tonight?” And your mom suddenly points at you, and you start laughing because seriously, what the hell? And then she gets confused because it turns out she was just pointing to a dog walking down the sidewalk? That’s been my night.
My mom and I had gone to Walmart to get me a mattress pad. The one I wanted was out of reach on the highest shelf, so instead of doing the reasonable thing and calling up an employee to get a stepstool, I decided to climb the shelves to grab the pad. At first, this worked very well, and I was able to grab it. But in doing so, I nudged the other ones on the shelf, and they started falling, right on top of a stranger who was passing by at the time.
I was still clinging to the shelf, trying to offer apologies from four feet in the air. The woman was a really good sport, and seemed pretty understanding, though obviously didn’t find the situation as funny as my mom did. Then I handed my mom the pad I wanted, and I tried to hurry to get out of there before we literally got kicked out. But then Mom and I got into a little debate over whether or not the little pad would do much good, and we decided against it. So, basically I attacked someone with foam roll-ups for nothing.
Does it count as urban exploration if you're just exploring your rooftop?
Let me start at the beginning.
I have a lot of trouble sleeping. Between the sleep apnea (which often ensures I can’t stay asleep, meaning by early morning when it wakes me up again I’ll just give up and get up) and always taking at least an hour before I can fall sleep, it’s safe to say that sleep doesn’t consider me to be its best friend. Most of the time, that’s annoying, but other times, I can live with it… such as when I sneak out onto the rooftop to watch the sunrise.
Despite how often it happens, I’m not particularly fond of getting up early, but there are some perks. I like being the first up in the morning, where I can pretend I have the house to myself. I like the quiet. I like seeing nature breathe in the first life, and doing the same. In the end, I guess morning isn’t that bad.
Cats have weird habits. It’s really no secret, at this point. They’re a little like humans in their enigmatic capacities.
I don’t know if Tinkerbell is really against books so much as she views them as an open invitation to focus on her instead. Whenever we’re reading—particularly if we’re lying in bed while doing so—she uses radar senses to detect the smell of the paper, to hear the turning of the page, and sprints over from any corner of the house to visit. Then she’ll insert herself between us and the book, sometimes even crawling through the space between the book and our lap. If we try to move the book to see it, she’ll then move to block our view again, and she won’t rest until we pet her.
I don’t know if she just thinks books are weird, or if she’s so self-centered that she can’t stand the idea of us using leisure time focusing on anything but her, but it’s become clear that to her, time spent reading is wasted, and time spent petting is delightful.
I spend a lot of time on the computer. Too much time. I depend on computers, and am the first to sing their praises, but I still recognize that this dependency can be a little much. Granted, a good portion of the time I spend staring at a screen is working: I spend a lot of time writing, or drawing, or working on my blog… but the amount of time I spend surfing social media sites and looking at cat videos is probably too much for one person.
Then I discovered a project: Step away from the screen and make something. The creator of the project, Laurie, explained that it was designed “to change my relationship with screens. To make my time on the screen more mindful. And less mindless. To spend more time creating, and less time curating. To use screens more responsibly.” She set two goals for herself, the first being “to MAKE something every month in 2013. A real thing. A thing you can touch. Or stand in front of. At least one thing per month. If I made more, awesome. But at a minimum, I had to produce at least one real thing — something not digital — at least 12 times that year. Twelve projects in twelve months.”
While I’m starting this more than halfway through the year, I believe it’s better to start late than not at all. So, without further ado, here’s a bit of what I’ve been working on.
I’ve recently gotten into journaling, and above are pages centered around two Van Gogh quotes that really spoke to me.
Laurie learned that “making things is just as addicting as screens,” that creating things “generates its own kind of energy,” and that when people saw you making things, they were drawn in and wanted to participate. After creating things, I felt calmer. Happier. More like myself, which is sometimes hard to achieve in the midst of my depression. I hope to keep this project up, and I hope that I might even inspire a few of you to join me. I think it will be worth it.
If you don’t have the sort of relationship with your brother where you can…
…then maybe you should rethink your relationship.
Sidenote: this entire post is a grammatical nightmare, and I apologize. I don’t have the patience to edit it, as my stomach still hurts from the tire swing.
I was sitting on the couch when I saw a massive spider speed-walking towards me. Naturally, because I’m scared of them (not to mention very allergic to their bites) I screamed. It sped up, still moving towards me, and ducked under the couch.
Me: Holy crap we’re all going to die!
Mom came downstairs to see me standing on the couch, staring at the floor.
Mom: What is it?
Me: Death. Death upon us all.
Me: There was a spider. A very large, very ugly spider. Now it’s under the couch. Where I sit.
Mom, very unimpressed with my theatrics: I see.
Me: Don’t you know what’s going to happen now? It’s going to crawl up from under the couch, and sometime within the next day I’m going to find it on my shoulder.
Mom, still not taking the situation seriously: That seems likely.
Me: It’s happened before! Now I have to find a new couch to sit on, and it’s gonna be a huge hassle.
Ian, walking into the room: There’s a spider under the couch?
Me: Death upon us all.
Ian: Well, I could help you look for it. Or at least help you move your stuff away.
So, the two of us pushed the couch away from the wall and into the middle of the living room. We didn’t see it.
Me: Great. You know what this means? It’s in the couch.
Ian: The couch ate it.
Me: Now it really is gonna crawl up on me when I’m sitting there.
We moved the couch back, and a minute or so later, the spider (clearly training for a marathon) sprinted out from under the couch.
Me: There it is! Ian, grab something!
Ian: I have a bag of chicken.
I wasn’t sure if he was saying he couldn’t grab something because he was holding chicken, or if he was suggesting we somehow trap the spider in his lunch. I didn’t have time to debate with him, because the spider was headed for the other couch (probably in the hopes that this one wouldn’t be moved around or stood on by screaming twentysomethings), so I sprinted over to the kitchen and grabbed a large plastic cup to trap it under. I managed to catch it with minimal theatrics.
Me: Ha! Take that, sucker!
Then we called Mom back downstairs so she could take it outside. Because teamwork is essential.
I have no idea what I'm doing.