I don’t sleep. Not well, anyway. I’ve always had issues but it hadn’t been chronic until about three years ago. Right around the time I started working where I am now. Which is also about the time I started keeping a steady supply of Prilosec in my bottom desk drawer. My denial won’t allow me to believe there is any correlation between my hire date and my onset of sleep deprivation and ulcer development. Nope. Pure coincidence.
Unless chemically assisted, I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night. I do however, recall my one time trial with Ambien. I slept as if in a coma and dreamt of stuffing my face with calzones while the munchkins of the Lollypop Guild hailed me as their pizza queen…which naturally, was bliss. That is, until my alarm went off. I got out of bed and stumbled off to the bathroom feeling like one of those V8 tools who can’t manage to stand upright. I felt drunk and drugged and worst of all, like I needed to sleep for another eleventy days.
I called in sick that morning, went back to bed and slept until 4:00pm. Accomplishing the productivity equivalent of a typical day at the office. Shhh.
Needless to say, my levels of functionality are at their lowest first thing in the morning. Which is why I seriously need to rethink my bathroom counter organization. Anyone else see a potential problem with this?
This particular morning I felt my mouth had had enough. All of those embarrassing red bumps along my gum-line and those unsightly ingrown hairs. Ugh! Who wants THAT grinning at them? Sure, it was moderately medicinal in taste but I think it was worth the effort. My mouth is now free to smile willy nilly at whoever crosses it's path and however maniacally it chooses. No more shameful cover ups or board shorts over the head. Those days are over.
Yep. I mistakenly slathered my toothbrush with bikini zone rather than Crest. Both tubular in shape. Both twist off caps. Both taste like crap. Sadly, it wasn't the first time it's happened. As if I'd be one of those people who learn from their mistakes. Pompous prigs are what THEY are. But not me. No sir. Not me.