des�ul�to�ry: 1. Moving or jumping from one thing to another; disconnected. 2. Occurring haphazardly; random.
I was so excited at the prospect of sleeping in on Saturday. I haven�t been sleeping all that great lately, because I�m a big dork. See, dating makes me nervous, you know? So while I was seeing Serial, I was a constant bundle of high-strung, flustered energy. My eyes would pop open at six o�clock in the a.m. and I would be unable to get back to sleep. I would close my eyes and roll over, and then roll over again, and then again, and then I�d start thinking, �I wonder if we�ll be doing anything tonight. I wonder what it would be like to wake up next to him. I wonder what it would be like to make him breakfast. I wonder if he�s thinking about the same things I am right now. I wonder if he�s even awake right now. I wonder if I�m completely crazy. What if I am, and he�s going to figure it out soon? I don�t think I�m crazy, but don�t all crazy people think they�re not crazy? Michael Jackson is arguably the craziest crazy that ever crazed a craze, but he thinks he�s perfectly normal. Ohmygaw�what if I�m as crazy as Michael Jackson and I just don�t realize it?!� And by that point, I�m thinking about Michael Jackson�s scary, scary plastic face, and there�s no chance I�ll ever be getting back to sleep again. Ever.
And while we�re talking about Michael Jackson, has anybody else noticed how much he looks like Connie Selleca now?
Anyway, the point of this story was how I was finally looking forward to being able to sleep again. Ha! Fat chance. See, Saturday morning began with a bang �- or, more accurately, a BZZZZZ -- as the landscapers decided that 8:30am on a weekend was the perfect time to start pruning the hedges around our complex. It sounded like the freaking Texas Chainsaw Massacre was taking place right outside our respective bedroom windows. So, no sleep for me.
I didn�t end up drunk-dialing Serial on Friday night as I�d planned. I did, however, call him on Saturday. His reason for not calling me all week? He has the flu. Lame. Wish I could say I was sorry to hear it. Anyway, I�m not even going to detail our stupid conversation, which ended with him saying he couldn�t talk or anything this week either, �but maybe we can hang out next week?� because I�ve decided not to waste any more energy feeling drama about that shit.
I was watching this program on TV this weekend, and almost blew a fuse when the announcer said, in all seriousness, �Perhaps it�s fortunate that monkeys don�t have access to dynamite.� This immediately replaced, �I am not asking Grandma to bone the hangman!� as the funniest thing I heard on television all weekend. Or ever, for that matter.
The janitor here thinks I�m too serious. He says I always look all scowly and unfriendly. What the hell does he know? Shut up, dude. And take your dog to the vet.
May Day and I are beginning to frighten ourselves. We�ve begun completing each other�s sentences now, and, as if that wasn�t scary enough, we�ve also started doing that thing where one of us will have a song stuck in their head, and the other one will start singing it. Or walking to the beat. Like, of the song that�s not even playing. Maybe we are psychically linked after all? We need to get over this before we start frightening people we know.
Everyone is irritating today except for me. Why is that? Nothing anyone says this morning fails to get right on my last nerve. Particularly anything said by Hardy, the port captain, whom I�ve never liked, due to his abrasive laugh and intrusive demeanor. But I almost went right through the ceiling when Miranda spent what felt like forty minutes trying to figure out which setting made her phone sound clearer. �How�s that? How about this? Which one is better? Can you hear me now? CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? CAN YOU?� Like we don�t all get enough of that crap on TV, now that Verizon owns every square inch of advertising space not currently dominated by Ford. Shut up, Miranda. Did you hear that?
I hate the song that�s playing on the radio right now. I don�t even know what it is, and I can�t understand the guy that�s singing it, and it�s pissing me off. Fuck you, radio. And fuck you too, song!
I like the F word. Fuck. Heh.
