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terribleturnipMy apologies for the imaginary bad language...but REALLY, I am so BORED by having to think about this all of the time. A friend came into the house and said "ooh, air conditioning! I just can't bring myself to run the air conditioning in October" and my self-editor is so dehydrated and fried that I said..."That's just dumb. May I suggest that a thermometer is a better indicator of when the AC should be used than a calendar? We're not talking white shoes here..."
Although it was a lovely function Friday night and I feel honored to have been invited...it meant only four hours of sleep and I knew that was going to be a BAD thing.
Well, yes, there was the sheer absurdity of standing there in the camp, with twin streams of sweat running down from hat on either side of my face. From the sheer exertion of standing there. But the mottled shade kept me from seeing the WRONG slant of the light and I was doing a fine job of deluding myself that it was August. But the dust...that brought me down. I didn't dare leave the camp and wander around, since my foray out to the joust area last weekend brought me within inches of a full blown panic attack. (I'm okay until suddenly I realize that I'm "sipping" little bits of air and I can't quite breathe deep enough and then, well, then the giant hand closes around my throat. Which is almost as bad as feeling like a giant WUSS afterwards.)
Thankfully, on Saturday, Scotchtoberfest duties meant that I needed to leave the site in mid-afternoon, drive home, walk and feed the furherd. As well as stop at Staples for a printer cartridge so that I could finish the Scary Perry newsletters (please, within a single day, I couldn't finish one task because the charge ran out on the tool, the batteries ran out on another and the ink ran out in my printer. And you KNOW what happened when I went to staple the newsletter, don't you? Oh, yeah. I SO wish I was making this stuff up just to be funny...).
I was able to walk and feed everyone, take a shower, change out, finish the newsletter. And whoo-hoo, there was just enough time left on the clock to have an HOUR nap before it was time to distribute said newsletter around the 'hood and head back to Scotchtoberfest.
So, got into bed and passed out immediately. Only to be woken up 15 minutes later by knocking at the door. (Why didn't I just ignore it? Because I have two greyhounds who erupt in a fury of barking and baying and tear-assing downstairs because surely THIS time the Vandals and Goths have arrived to storm the house... Which also makes the bed explode, since the cats are inevitably sleeping all around me. And the little expletives are not always careful about where they run when fired up by the dogs.) The paper guy doing his collections. (Note to self, would you PLEASE remember to give them the new expiration date on the credit card!)
Trudge back upstairs, and try again, thinking I'll never fall asleep, because my heart is still pounding and adrenaline racing from the theoretical Vandal&Goth attack. But I'm sound asleep again by the time the dogs and cats settle in. This time I get about 10 minutes in before the Vandals&Goths launch a second attack. My neighbor, who saw me come to the door for the paper guy and was amazed that I was actually home on a Saturday. Luckily, he had some money for me (buying the old sedan from me) so I was mollified.
Trudge, trudge, trudge...this time I'm abandoned by the cats, who decide it's quieter downstairs. But my ever-vigilant hounds follow me back upstairs.
Oh, you so know where this is going, don't you?
Ten more minutes until the next Vandals 'n Goth attack. This time from another neighbor who is also amazed to see me home on a Saturday afternoon and can she borrow my uber-drainsnake? If she hadn't saved my bacon so many times by letting me borrow HER stuff over the years, I might have killed her, except that resignation was already setting in. I SUCK at taking a nap. A sleeping me in the middle of the day is like a magnet for activity. Like a daytime poltergeist...phones ring, there's knocking on doors, things falling off of surfaces (that's usually the cats, excited by me being home, playing silly buggers around the house), the sound of water lapping and ear flapping, thanks to the dogs.
So, sleep deprived at Scotchtoberfest, while everyone else delivers these wonderful heartfelt meaningful toasts to absent or present friends, I deliver "Here's to the patrons, without whom we'd have no reason to get up at an ungodly hour everyday of near every weekend, dress in clothing terribly inappropriate for the weather and put in a 9 hour workday on our days off."
For the record, I didn't punch her in the eye, she snuck up behind me while I was getting her shot glass for her.
And yes, four hours of sleep the second night in the row was also a BAD thing. Especially on top of 20 plus tastings of scotch. Although truthfully, there was often just enough to taste it and I actually went home sober.
I had forgotten, until I got the phone message that morning, that I had promised to teach a portion of the personal chef seminar on Sunday...luckily I had warned them in advance that if they wanted me to teach until 12:30, that I would have to be dressed funny. Real funny. Originally, that was just so that I would be able to head right down to the festival. But since we are temporarily down to one working car...drove out the the site, set up, got the food all ready, headed back up to Gaithersburg for the seminar (and despite, or maybe because of being dressed like a pirate, managed to snag a future teaching gig from some folks who are instituting a personal chef degree program), did that for two hours, headed back down to the site, and yes, managed to stay upright until closing cannon, and even through dinner afterwards.
Although it was a lovely function Friday night and I feel honored to have been invited...it meant only four hours of sleep and I knew that was going to be a BAD thing.
Well, yes, there was the sheer absurdity of standing there in the camp, with twin streams of sweat running down from hat on either side of my face. From the sheer exertion of standing there. But the mottled shade kept me from seeing the WRONG slant of the light and I was doing a fine job of deluding myself that it was August. But the dust...that brought me down. I didn't dare leave the camp and wander around, since my foray out to the joust area last weekend brought me within inches of a full blown panic attack. (I'm okay until suddenly I realize that I'm "sipping" little bits of air and I can't quite breathe deep enough and then, well, then the giant hand closes around my throat. Which is almost as bad as feeling like a giant WUSS afterwards.)
Thankfully, on Saturday, Scotchtoberfest duties meant that I needed to leave the site in mid-afternoon, drive home, walk and feed the furherd. As well as stop at Staples for a printer cartridge so that I could finish the Scary Perry newsletters (please, within a single day, I couldn't finish one task because the charge ran out on the tool, the batteries ran out on another and the ink ran out in my printer. And you KNOW what happened when I went to staple the newsletter, don't you? Oh, yeah. I SO wish I was making this stuff up just to be funny...).
I was able to walk and feed everyone, take a shower, change out, finish the newsletter. And whoo-hoo, there was just enough time left on the clock to have an HOUR nap before it was time to distribute said newsletter around the 'hood and head back to Scotchtoberfest.
So, got into bed and passed out immediately. Only to be woken up 15 minutes later by knocking at the door. (Why didn't I just ignore it? Because I have two greyhounds who erupt in a fury of barking and baying and tear-assing downstairs because surely THIS time the Vandals and Goths have arrived to storm the house... Which also makes the bed explode, since the cats are inevitably sleeping all around me. And the little expletives are not always careful about where they run when fired up by the dogs.) The paper guy doing his collections. (Note to self, would you PLEASE remember to give them the new expiration date on the credit card!)
Trudge back upstairs, and try again, thinking I'll never fall asleep, because my heart is still pounding and adrenaline racing from the theoretical Vandal&Goth attack. But I'm sound asleep again by the time the dogs and cats settle in. This time I get about 10 minutes in before the Vandals&Goths launch a second attack. My neighbor, who saw me come to the door for the paper guy and was amazed that I was actually home on a Saturday. Luckily, he had some money for me (buying the old sedan from me) so I was mollified.
Trudge, trudge, trudge...this time I'm abandoned by the cats, who decide it's quieter downstairs. But my ever-vigilant hounds follow me back upstairs.
Oh, you so know where this is going, don't you?
Ten more minutes until the next Vandals 'n Goth attack. This time from another neighbor who is also amazed to see me home on a Saturday afternoon and can she borrow my uber-drainsnake? If she hadn't saved my bacon so many times by letting me borrow HER stuff over the years, I might have killed her, except that resignation was already setting in. I SUCK at taking a nap. A sleeping me in the middle of the day is like a magnet for activity. Like a daytime poltergeist...phones ring, there's knocking on doors, things falling off of surfaces (that's usually the cats, excited by me being home, playing silly buggers around the house), the sound of water lapping and ear flapping, thanks to the dogs.
So, sleep deprived at Scotchtoberfest, while everyone else delivers these wonderful heartfelt meaningful toasts to absent or present friends, I deliver "Here's to the patrons, without whom we'd have no reason to get up at an ungodly hour everyday of near every weekend, dress in clothing terribly inappropriate for the weather and put in a 9 hour workday on our days off."
For the record, I didn't punch her in the eye, she snuck up behind me while I was getting her shot glass for her.
And yes, four hours of sleep the second night in the row was also a BAD thing. Especially on top of 20 plus tastings of scotch. Although truthfully, there was often just enough to taste it and I actually went home sober.
I had forgotten, until I got the phone message that morning, that I had promised to teach a portion of the personal chef seminar on Sunday...luckily I had warned them in advance that if they wanted me to teach until 12:30, that I would have to be dressed funny. Real funny. Originally, that was just so that I would be able to head right down to the festival. But since we are temporarily down to one working car...drove out the the site, set up, got the food all ready, headed back up to Gaithersburg for the seminar (and despite, or maybe because of being dressed like a pirate, managed to snag a future teaching gig from some folks who are instituting a personal chef degree program), did that for two hours, headed back down to the site, and yes, managed to stay upright until closing cannon, and even through dinner afterwards.
