Wednesday, November 30, 2011


I've been a touch on the snarky side the past three days. I'm not sure if it's the lack of sleep, the lack of food other than the leftover pumpkin pie that  is barely visible under two generous cups of Cool Whip or that I've been listening to "The Queen is Dead" non-stop.

It's probably Morrissey's fault.

Morrissey:  I'm particularly stuck on tracks 2 (Frankly, Mr. Shankly), 6 (Bigmouth Strikes Again) and 9 (There is a Light That Never Goes Out).

That Morrissey is such a sarcastic bastard.  When I was in high school, I thought he was depressed. As an adult, I realize he's not depressed: he's fucking hateful.

Sweetness, I was only joking when I said I'd like to
smash every tooth in your head.

Sweetness, I was only joking when I said by rights you 
should be bludgeoned in your bed.

If there was a DIY Smash & Bludgeon post on Pinterest, I'd pin that shit on my "Getting Away With It" board in a heartbeat.

Pumpkin Pie Diet:  I need to eat real food again. I suck at eating during the day. It's a cup of coffee in the morning and then usually nothing but 'scraps' (slices of American cheese; a piece of toast if I'm energetic, Halloween candy during the season) until dinner.

It's probably why I'm always so tired, too. Sometimes I fall asleep on the couch before I have to get the kids -- I think my body is desperate for a steady flow of carbs and protein.

Before I quit my 'real' job close to 5 years ago, I had this fantasy that once I became a full-time, stay-at-home Mom, I'd have beautiful, healthy salads -- loaded with chick peas and green olives and hard-boiled eggs and pickled red beets -- every day for lunch. That's happened once in 5 years, and only because I had a friend over for lunch.

Who fantasizes about pickled-beet salads, anyway?

In a weak -- and hungry -- moment today, I took my son to McDonald's for a Happy Meal (one for him, one for me) after school. Not good. Not good at all.

I'm going to try to eat some eggs and a banana tomorrow morning. And get back on the vitamins. I'm better than Cool Whip and McDonald's.

Sleep: If I don't start sleeping soon, I will bludgeon myself to death. It's not fair. I'm tired. I do a TON of stuff during the day. I deserve ... 6 ? ... consecutive hours of sleep, at least ... 5? ... days a week. Is that a normal amount of sleep? I honestly don't know.

I can't rely on pills to put me to sleep. But at this point, it's all I've got to guarantee that I'm unconscious for a few hours in a row.  Lack of sleep is fucking up my desire to be nice and not kill people. It's fucking up my workouts. It's fucking up my ability to think.

Perhaps I'll just hit Husband up for a little lovin' tonight after our port. That usually helps me sleep.

Plan of Action: Sex. Sleep. Eggs & Banana. Buy salad stuff. Then, rule out Morrissey as the main source of my snarkiness. "The Queen is Dead" is a pretty solid album: it shouldn't be unnecessarily shelved because I'm a sleepy, hungry bitch.

Bigmouth Strikes Again, The Smiths, Salford 1986

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