All I Needed....

... last night was a decent meal and a good night's sleep.

I got neither.

A bunch of us went out for drinks at the Fat Black Pussy Cat for Cinco De Mayo. Given my stress level as of late, one might say that I drank a bit too much. I won't apologize. I deserved it!

I could have had more to drink, but D exclaimed "I want to go" so I said "Ummm... ok? I guess?"

We left and D said "What do you want for dinner?" Oh, the things I wanted for dinner! I haven't been eating right/enough lately what with stress and the desire to consume all of the food in my apartment so as not to have to throw away or transport it. This has made for weird meals such as cereal with a side of Cheez-Its, and far too many peanut butter sandwiches on slightly bad bread with slightly bad peanut butter. Tonight? Waffles!

Anyway, I said "How about pizza? Or Thai? Or Indian!!! Or ITALIAN! I want raviolis!" Starving, folks, because, again, haven't had much time for lunches these days and dinners have been abominations. D said "Well, actually, I was hoping to not have to buy anything. You know."

OK. "How about an omelette?" he said, to which I said "No, I had an omelette for lunch," because I'd had an omelette for lunch because my body was crumbling and when you order an omelette you get all sorts of nourishment - protein, carbs, pickles on the side.

"What about crepes?" I suggested, since he's been dying to try his new crepe pan from Reading Terminal Market. He found that agreeable until I said "But can we not do chocolate ones? I need real sustenance." He said "Well, what would you put in them?" I said "Spinach? Vegetables? Cheese!" He said "I don't have any vegetables and I don't really want to buy them. Buying vegetables would be like eating out."

"Ummmm. OK."

The subject was dropped and when we left he started heading towards the supermarket, and I was like "Where are we going?" and he was like "To get vegetables?" and I was like "No! We can come up with something!" I knew he didn't want to do it, and who am I to suggest my boyfriend do something he doesn't want to do?

I said "I really want raviolis" and D said "Oh! I have cheese tortellini!"

YES!

We got back to his place and he started making the tortellini. Shortly thereafter, the room began to spin. Shortly after that, I was lying on D's bed thinking "This must be what vertigo is like - how awful!" when D said "So remember how I was telling you that the last time I ate these it was the worst meal of my life? I still haven't decided if it was the sauce or the tortellini."

I said "D, I think I'm just going to get a bagel or something" and he was like "No! I promise it won't be bad this time."

Heh.

Worst thing ever. Definitely the tortellini. I would side against room temperature cheese on any given day, especially cheese that claims to be ricotta but clearly is not. Vile. I had three of them and gave up and ended up not eating dinner.

Not good. Not good at all. I am very, very, very hungry right now.

I thought "Well, at least not eating dinner might help me to sleep, right? I'll just pass out! It will be lovely!" D's mother called, he ate, and I did fall asleep! Bliss!

Until D said "LEAH! There was this other thing I wanted to tell you... wah wah wah wah wah wah..." No idea what he said because I'd passed out, and because all I could hear was "I realize you haven't had a good night's sleep in at least a week, and I see you sleeping right there, so I thought I'd wake you up and tell you something inconsequential!"

So that was that. About 5 minutes later (and, folks, be made aware that this is all happening at around 9:45) D was curled up beside me passed out himself, snoring. And I was wide awake because he'd woken me up, and I was becoming increasingly cross with the snoring. And I was cross because he'd refused to set the alarm, because he said "Dude, we're going to get SO MUCH SLEEP. There's no way I'm not going to wake up." Uh-huh. Right. If I don't get into work at 8:00 my piano is not going to be moved, if my piano is even going to be moved. Ergh. The snoring. The hunger.

All irrational. All totally and completely irrational.

I got up and realized that I was in prison. I kept thinking "I am neither sleeping nor eating nor packing. This is not good."

I don't know how couples can live in a studio. No idea. I kept thinking "I wish there was somewhere else for me to go! Where am I supposed to go? I am wide awake and am freaking out and he's dead asleep and peaceful."

My stress level as of late is through the roof. Lots going on and feeling like I am all alone in the world. I thought "Shit, if there was another room, I'd call some friends who actually want to talk to me right now, unlike my boyfriend who has passed out and is preventing me from sleeping and eating" or "I could watch TV in another room if there was another room!" or "I could go through D's books and read one of them, except I can't because I can't turn on the light in this studio because he is asleep!"

I wish I'd been coherent enough to think "Ah ha! D is asleep! I can LEAVE and either get a meal or go home and pack and then sleep there!" But no. I was all emo and stressed and wanting desperately to sleep.

I did think "If I went back to Brooklyn now, I could be in bed by 11:30 but I'd
have to get up at 6:45 in order to get into work by 8:00. If I stay here, maybe
I'll fall asleep a bit later but I'll be able to get up later because I am 5 minutes from work."

Ah, the rational ways of insomniacs. These seemed like legitimate arguments at 10:00.

I decided to pretend that D's bathroom was the living room, so I hooked up the space heater, put it on the toilet bowl, turned it on, sat on the tiled floor and started to make phone calls. RR was out celebrating Cinco de Mayo, so I thought "Who is of great comfort to me? Who can I say 'Dude, I'm drunk and tired and stressed' to and will not be like 'Dude, stop worrying!'?" M!

I called M and she gave me good advice. She said "What you need to do is imagine someone - or yourself - writing the number 100 on a chalk board and then imagine them looking at it and then slowly erasing it. Then, repeat but with 99. It has to be boring. It's a variant on counting sheep."

GENIUS.

I spoke with her for a bit and then said "M, thanks for the advice. I shall try this right now!" By then I think it was probably 10:30.

I went back to bed and was hoping for D to be awake and for him to ask me how I was doing but no. Dead asleep.

I crawled onto his bed and closed my eyes and pictured a chalk board.

OK.

I knew what to do.

I am walking up to the chalk board and I am going to write the number 100.

Except that instead of writing on the chalk board, I pulled out a cup of a banana pudding from a brown bag and ate it.

Shit.

Try again. Think chalk. Only this time, I approached the chalk board and ate Pad Thai.

NO!

Think think think. Concentrate.

Write on the chalk board. Don't think about food.

Numbers.

Boring numbers.

Good yummy garlic bread!

NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I decided that this method wasn't useful to me since it required so much concentration to just even think about numbers that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep. I was curious as to whether I could think of 100 items of food, but realized that was just a guarantee to be awake forever.

Crap.

Hours passed and sleep did not come. I was doing the typical insomniac manuever of "If I fall asleep right now, I'll get 7 hours! That's totally enough! I mean, I haven't gotten more than 4 hours in forever, so 7 will seem like tons compared to that! And then I'll go in and work with radioactivity at the crack of dawn and then stay up all night tomorrow night packing and then get up at 6 on Saturday and I'll be fucking fine fine fine!" Except this was all conjecture, since D doesn't believe in clocks. Every now and then I'd turn on my cell phone just to see what time it was. It was always discouraging, especially given that I could have conceivably gone to bed at 9:30 and gotten 10 hours of sleep if someone didn't feel compelled to wake me up.

At around 12:30 I thought "OK, 7 hours. I can get 7 hours. This needs to work. It's been about an hour and a half since the chalk board thing and maybe its about time we give this another try!"

I decided that the best way to do it would be to think of someone else at the chalk board, and it would be someone who wasn't starving to death and someone who hasn't lost 5 pounds this week.

My delirious mind conjured up the chalk board, and a man approached. "He's going to write 100, I just know it!" I thought. And he did! And then he turned around and revealed himself to be Colin Farrell.

Meeeeowwwww! Colin Farrell, hottttt. Oh yes, Colin Farrell, write 99! Just don't face me again because I can't think about numbers when you are in the room. How can I think about chalk at a time like this, when you keep looking at me coyly?

Oh, my post-drunk mind. WHY!?!??!?!

I thought "This is fucking ridiculous. Why Colin Farrell? Where did he come from? OK. Think of someone who looks really bland. Someone really boring. Right. Someone who will make you tired just thinking about them!"

Thom Yorke. Yes. Thom Yorke will put me to sleep. His droopy eyes will convince me that I am tired! His lethargic ways. Yes.

It worked, and I was almost falling asleep. I think I remember him getting to 92, looking all sullen and taxed. Perfect representation of how I was feeling. Perhaps this is the key to the chalk board game. Pick someone to go to the board who suits your mood.

But, of course, I woke up again.

I think, though, that I got about 4 hours.

And I am psyched that I woke up at about 5:00 and realized that there was no way in fuck D was going to get up at 7:30 on his own, so I set my cell phone.

Thankfully, because did he get up? No.

He said "How did you sleep?" and I said "Not at all" and he said nothing. And then he started singing some stupid song and I wanted to sing a song about how irrational it is to be jealous of people who sleep and how insomniacs must want to kill people who have gotten 9 hours of sleep and who have enough energy to sing stupid songs at 7:30 am.

But I didn't, because I have no energy. Because I haven't slept. Or eaten. And I have lots of work to do. And might be having a piano moved. And definitely have to pack for hours tonight. And then have to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.

It will all be over tomorrow.

I will have sheets on my bed in my new apartment and a towel over my bedroom window and I will sleep like the dead.

Incidentally, I had the following waking dream last night while trying to sleep:

I was at a show and it turned out that Eugene Mirman was headlining. There was some sort of drama with getting tickets, but somehow we had them. At the end of the show, Eugene Mirman came up to me and was like "Hey - I know you! Thanks for coming! How do I know you?" In the dream I was hot for Eugene Mirman and was all flustered by his talking to me. I was like "Well, I went to school in western MA. I think you did, too?" He was like "Yeah, but you look familiar. I feel like I know you." I said "Well, yeah, funny, I was actually in a talent show with you. Ummm. Not that I have any talent, but yeah. I think that's how you know me." He was like "Oh! YEAH! I remember. You were good. You were cute." I got all awkward, mainly because D was standing right behind me and I wanted to be like "Oh, please, you shouldn't... but please... go on...." Minutes later, after he had gone on and was telling me that I had a good voice etc., his girlfriend, a gorgeous and tall model-type appeared. I thought "Further evidence that funny men who aren't particularly hot get really hot chicks" and "Shit, of COURSE he has a girlfriend." I was nice, and said "What do you do?" and then she started to sing. Amazing voice. She said "I'm an opera singer." And I felt like shit. She said "What do you do?" and I said "Nothing."