I'm letting my mind take over right now. It's 11:30 pm and my ambien isn't working. Go figure. I sat up and asked Beerhound if he thought his ambien was working. Stupid I know, but I swear that someone is slipping me placebos.
Emma just came in a few minutes ago to ask me if I thought it would be okay for her to take a walk. Apparently she was getting a little ancy. Sure, why not?? I'd love for my 18 year old daughter to take a walk in Norfolk at the height of storm whatever they've decided to name it, at 11:30 at night. After all, as she puts it, it's good exercise and she's strong enough to kick anyone's ass. Probably so, but what did she think I would say? This is scientific proof that teenagers have no brains. None at all.
She just came back in my room to inform me that she needed another ambien because her's fell down the sink, honest to whoever you believe in. Ambien is like gold. You lose a pill and you're out of luck brother. We hoard Ambien like the Scottish hoard whiskey. You might as well drag out your best Tolstoy novel and settle in for the night.
And while I'm at it, what's the deal with watering down Maker's Mark? Do the distillers not realize how important whiskey is to the survival of most mothers, well, that, disposal diapers, ambien, cheerios, sippy cups that don't spill, valium, coffee and earplugs. Sad, so sad, isn't it when self medication becomes such an important part of good mothering.
I've had one of those weeks where I've decided not to speak to the 9 out of the 10 people that I have decided after all these years that I actually like.
For note, Beerhound is not the 10th. He's still refusing to put carpet in the family room. He says I'll get used to it and then it's really quite enjoyable. He's said that for the last year. I say, I haven't killed you yet so this can't be prison. If I wanted to live on cement floors, I'd move outside to our sidewalk which is infinitely cleaner than our house seems to be at this point - thank you darling daughters - so you can kiss my ass. To which he replied, he'd like to but for reasons unbeknownst to him, he continues to piss me off so I'm not putting out. The man's reasoning is beyond my comprehension.
Emma and Bonnie have decided that the newest subject of discussion they would like to have with me, are these little white chunks they keep finding in the crevices of their tonsils. Evidently, you can see them - I know this because they handed me a flashlight and made me look - and you can actually stick your finger back to your tonsil and flick them out, like little hard pus balls. Isn't that special? I don't have tonsils. They came out when I was five and I don't want to know about their tonsils but they won't stop talking about it or trying to get me to check their throats. At one point, Emma coughed some up in the bathroom - I bet you didn't know you could do that, did you? - called for Bonnie and I to come and look. So much pride. Bonnie went running up and together they made "oooh and aaah" sounds examining these little, hard, white balls of ???? and seeing what they felt like. I went to the kitchen and threw up. This is not why I had children.
I finished the third season of Downton Abbey and I'm ready to shoot Mr. Fellows. He is a mean, mean man and shouldn't be allowed to ever write a television series again. My only enjoyment is watching the last episodes with Bonnie and yelling a spoiler, acting horrified that I had done such a thing and begging her forgiveness. She falls for it every time.
I'm listening to the soundtrack from Pitch Perfect - if you haven't seen the movie or heard the soundtrack, you're missing something special - you're probably thinking, "Susan, no wonder you're not sleeping." You're right of course but it's better than Beerhound's and Rue's snoring. I'd rather hear You Spin My Head Right Round When You Go Down blasting in through my earbuds. Maybe that's why my ambien isn't working.
Wow, I think I came full circle. Not bad for 12:11 pm.
Doesn't everyone's mind work like this? Please tell me I'm not alone here. Ah hell, I think my ambien is actually starting to kick in. I hereby call this wonderful chat session over.