Physics, Inevitable Physics

I broke my bed this weekend.

And before you all start in on the fat jokes or the sexual innuendos, just listen to the story. The story in which 1. I am fat and 2. I hate physics and 3. No sex takes place (so if that’s the kind of story you’re looking for, you know, don’t waste your time).

Last Saturday night, Sister and I stayed up really late at Sister-In-Law’s house. Sister-In-Law has been asked to play piano and lead worship at an upcoming Christian ladies retreat. Sister-In-Law is nervous about this because she’s only been playing piano for a little over a year, so Sister went over to help figure out all the musical nuances and harmonies and compositions and all those other musical things that I pretend to understand, but really I’m just glad if I’m in the right key for more than 50% of the song. So. Sister helped musically and I helped. Not at all. But eventually, we realized that USUALLY when they sing, I get on a computer and put together a media presentation. It’s how I compensate for my faulty vocal cords. So Sister-In-Law handed me a computer and I went to town.

We were having fun singing. Oh, I was singing alright. Not well, but I was still singing. And then Brother came home. Now, Brother is an executive for a store that closes at 11:00 pm. So, if Brother is home after all of the closing duties and whatnot, it’s verrrrrrry late. By the time we got home, it was way past my bedtime. This is all pretty pointless setup to tell you that when I woke up on Sunday for church, I was tired. Like: could-barely-force-myself-to-roll-out-of-my-bed-this-“getting-up”-concept-is-not-even-an-option kind of tired. But I did. Because rolling out of bed would have caused some pretty severe bodily harm. I managed to open my eyes long enough to find some clothes that didn't clash too badly.

And I went to church. We even got there a few minutes before rehearsal. Sister and I high-fived. If you have met us, you understand what a triumph this can be. I spent the next five hours working, running around, and being “alert” which is something I would rather not be and so I put it in quotes.

After a rehearsal, two services, and endless socializing, Sister and I headed home, since no one really wanted to go to lunch with us. We’re pariahs or something. Okay, no. Not really. Brother and Sister-In-Law went to her parents’ house. Mom and Dad had food in a crockpot that was not enough for four. We don’t really have any other friends. Crap, we’re back to being pariahs. Anyway, moving on.

[By this point, you’re wondering why I’m telling you all of this and how the heck this relates to my broken bed and my fatness and physics and why I’ve been gone for over a week with no posts and barely a tweet and why this is the thing I’ve waited all this time to tell you and I really have no answers except for this next part, so listen up or you will have read almost five hundred words for nothing and that would be a shame.]

We got home and determined that the TIRED completely outweighed the HUNGRY. We decided to have a nap for lunch. Mmmm… yummy. I wandered around the hallway between the bathroom and my bedroom, taking off my jewelry and chatting at Sister, who had already made it into her bed because she is a napping expert. There was a lull in the conversation and I was ready for my nap, so I caled out, “Okay, well… I’m crashing!” to let Sister know that I would be in my room with the door closed in case she felt like continuing the conversation and talked and I wasn’t there, which would result in her feeling silly and/or frustrated with my lack of answer and nobody likes to feel that way, so I warned her.

Remember I yelled out “I’m crashing?” as in a colloquialism for “laying down in my bed and going to sleep”? Well, Sister and I are very literal people. So she yelled back, “3! 2! 1! CRASH!!!!” Hearing the countdown and knowing intuitively where she was going with it, I timed my steps to my bed to correspond and when she yelled “CRASH!!!!” I did. And so did my bed.

I thought it would be more of a flop. I’ve flopped into this bed before with no negative results. But I guess I was feeling exuberant that day. Or more likely, my recent weight-gain combined with the angle of my shoulder and also, you know, PHYSICS. 

Long story (and I am aware of how needlessly looooooong this story truly is) still pretty long, at least one, if not two slats, in my box spring are busted. So now the mattress sags in the center of the one end.

Right after it happened, I tried laying there for a moment, praying I hadn't jsut broken it and also knowign that my head was lower than my feet. So, you know. That prayer was answered pretty quickly and with a resounding, "DUH!" I knew I would never be able to sleep like that and that it might even mess up my back. BUT I NEEDED MY NAP! So I got up, pulled the mattress off and spun the box spring around so that the brokenness could live at the foot of the bed. I reassembled my bed, got back in, and eventually napped.

So, I’m currently sleeping on a saggy kind of slope. Which is bringing back all kinds of memories of when I lived with Crazy Boss Lady in a rented furnished home owned by an octogenarian couple with heart issues—the master bed was permanently propped at a 30 degree angle to help their blood flow or something. I have no idea. I just know that, for about 90 nights last year, I fell asleep in the normal sleeping position and woke up and the foot of the bed and had to crawl my way back to my pillows at least three times a night.

This is not a great headspace to be in, let me tell you, what with all the RAGE about my current boss and Crazy Boss Lady working down the hall from me. I’m pretty much already LIVING on Memory Lane. Apprently now, I’m having a block party.

Since the broken bed is the same one I slept on in high school and was given to me when I moved out of my parents’ home and OH YEAH IT’S A TWIN SIZE, I’ve been thinking of replacing it for a while now. But mattresses are expensive and I would really like to own my own car before I buy a nicer version (read: queen size) of something that I already have. AND? I bought agiant purple couch this summer. So there is no room in my bedroom for anything other than a twin bed (unless I don’t mind living without bookshelves and a dresser and I DO MIND). So why would I spend my money to replace something I already have but don’t like WITH THE EXACT SAME THING?

Except that I am fat and physics sucks and I will probably buy a new bed next week. The end.

I Have No Answers or Excuses--I'm Sorry For This

Here are some things you need to know:

• Nothing has changed in my life in two months. I wouldn't have a problem with this except that there are some bad things going on in my life right now and I could stand a little bit of change (Kim at Let Me Start By Saying... had a good analogy about lemon shaped bruises). Instead, I get nochange (Nochange is a THING. It IS. Leave me alone). So, just FYI: Misery isn't that funny. Neither is this blog. There is a correlation.
• I was driving down the highway the other day and saw an interesting sight. A man was driving an old (probably late 1980s) model Honda Passport--a junky old SUV with dings and large rust spots. He was wearing a t-shirt that he'd cut the sleeves off of, so it was like an extra low-budget muscle shirt. He was pale, flabby and past middle age. Then he stuck his hand out his open window to flick some ash off of his CIGAR! I didn't know how to process this. My brain says cigar = high society/rich/pretentious, but junker car + homemade muscle shirt + flabby white guy = something other than classy/rich/pretentious. I didn't get a look at his face, but I'm kind of guessing pornstache. You?
• I have a REAL post written and all ready to go. But I was feeling self conscious about it, so I sent it to Sister for review. She hasn't read it yet. So, let's blame her that you get a blog in bullets today, shall we?
• I've decided that I'm not allowed to clear my feedreader or look at Twitter during the day until I have written a post. I'm hoping this will lead to more posting, but I could just stop going on the Internet. We'll see...
• Twitter is a time suck of massive proportions and I never seem to keep ahead of it. Maybe I'm following too many people? I actually went through and unfollowed a bunch of people whose tweets I generally ignore, because c'mon. What's the point of following someone who doesn't post information relevant to my interest? Except. Now I have this massive guilt every time someone follows me. I feel obligated to follow back. Plus, I feel this pressure to tweet interesting/funny/relevant things to make it worth following me. You'd think I was Catholic with all of this guilt I'm carrying around.
• Umm... Catholic jokes? Funny or offensive? My funny sensors aren't functioning properly. I mean, jokes with the Pope in it seem to be pretty funny (Popes in a Volkswagen!). But maybe that's just because "Pope" is a funny sounding word. Where's the line?
• Speaking of lines, I have a whole OTHER post written about lines. But I think it might just be grammatically obnoxious and morally depressing. I'm leaving it as a draft for a while to see if anything gets better. We're going on a week, so I'm thinking the outlook is a bit dim.
• Back to Twitter (I got distracted by the Catholics): If you're following me and you think I'm a jerk for not following back AND you think your tweets would be relevant to my interests/that I will fall in love with you/be your new Twitter BFF, direct message me. I can't promise I'll follow forever, but I'm willing to give it a chance.
• Word of warning... if most of your tweets are flowery pseudo-philosophical nonsense stolen from someone who self-published a self-help book and/or four-square-esque updates about you being places I have no interest in A. being or B. knowing you're there, I might not even give you a chance... Sorry. Take solace in the fact that many other twitterers agree with me. Ooops. Maybe that's only solace for me...
• I have a lot of split ends and my eyebrows look like a small woodland creature has taken up residence on my face. I have no idea why you need to know this, but I'm sharing anyways. I should go see my hairdresser, but it's pretty difficult to time off of work right now. I kind of want to ask my boss, "Do you want a furry-woodland-creature-faced employee or do you want to lose my 'productivity' one half hour early at the end of a Thursday?" And by 'productivity' I mean blogging...But the boss isn't completely read in on the whole blogging thing. So I'll stay furry for a while.
• I love Pandora. But today, I wish it was an actual person with an actual body so that I can grab it by the front of its shirt and shake it while asking, "WHY WOULD YOU PLAY AVRIL LAVIGNE ON THE SAME STATION AS DAUGHTRY AND ONEREPUBLIC? WHY???"
• I'm drinking free coffee. I like free coffee. I especially like that I got this free coffee after eating lunch with my mother. I like my mother. Actually, on a list of things I like, coffee and my mother are totally  top five. So, today is a good day. Better than most, at least. Thanks for suggesting lunch, Mom. And for paying. I like when you pay. I also like you. In case you're worried, my liking you is not dependent on you paying for things.
• I thought that these bullets might disguise it, but I'm giving in. This is not a well thought-out, planned, or even bullet-worthy post. It's just stream of consciousness rambling. I'm hoping that the bullets keep you from thinking I'm crazy. Probably not, huh?
• It is pouring today. We don't often get a deluge like this, complete with thunder and lightning. But every once in a while, we do. And I love it. I don't love getting wet so much, but sitting indoors watching the rain pelt the earth and hearing the crash of the heavens is pretty cool. But these things are only fun if you get to be indoors, be near a window, and have time to enjoy it. I've mostly been dashing to my car praying I don't fall off my high heels and land in a puddle. Completely possible. I'm a dancer, remember? This is not to say that I'm not loving the storm. I am. I'm just wishing I wasn't missing so much of it.
• Today is the first day of school for most of the kids in my town. It makes me a little bit nostalgic. But not enough that I actually miss going to school. Because ew.
• We have Youth Group tonight. Last week, the kids were extra squirrely and I felt badly for all the teachers that would have to handle them this week. I'm not sure if a whole day of sitting still and listening will make tonight easier (because they're primed and disciplined) or even worse (because THEY'VE BEEN STILL ALL DAY LONG AND WILL NOT STAND IT FOR ONE. MORE. SECOND.) We shall see. I think I know which one my money's on.
• I have to pee (damn you, free coffee!!). So I guess this is as good a place as any to stop the rambling and hit publish. See you tomorrow. At which point, I will hopefully have an ACTUAL post for you. If Sister doesn't want the job, I bet my mom will read it for me. Because she likes me. Most days.

Three Things I Might Wish You Didn't Know

I am that weird type of person that cannot discover a new blog and only read the posts available on the main page on the day I discovered it (I make it sound like there are others who do this… I have no idea if there are others). Instead, I have to go back to the very first post, however long ago it was written, and read from the beginning.  I admit, it’s a strange habit. And it actually keeps me from reading new blogs sometimes, because the undertaking seems too much to accomplish in my available free time. But, for me, it’s like picking up a book and turning to page 100 to start reading. It’s just wrong. This is also why I cannot (usually) start watching a TV show that has been on for several seasons, unless the previous seasons are available on DVD so I can catch up—this typically means that someone I know owns all the seasons, because I am too cheap to buy them unless I know I like the show (which I can’t know if I’ve never seen it) and I’m too lazy to go rent them one disk at a time.

When my sister introduced me to The Pioneer Woman in late 2008, I therefore had to start with her archives. It only took me nine months to catch up… And about a month ago, my sister sent me to Temerity Jane and the inevitable happened. I haven’t caught up yet, but it’s been interesting clicking on links that don’t exist anymore or going to blogs that have died years ago. Anyway, in one of TJ’s old posts, she sent her readers to a (then-current) post by Hyperbole and a Half. The post was about winning.  No, not the Charlie Sheen weirdness called #winning (which is how I see it in my head anytime anyone says that word in reference to that man). I mean, creating little games and contests for yourself, completely inside your own head, and then winning at them. I could not believe how many of my ridiculous thoughts were in that post!

Since I read it this morning, I caught myself “winning” like her all day.  I find myself racing people on the highway and winning—not racing in a speeding or dangerous way, but just seeing if I can accelerate at the green light before them or nudge the nose of my car a little past them before I slow down to make a turn while they keep going. Or sorting my M&Ms by color and winning if they come out even. Checking the clock and winning when it’s within a few minutes of what I guessed it would say. And I count all kinds of things, almost unconsciously and win when it comes out to a multiple of five. Someone on her site mentioned that these might be symptoms of OCD, but the rest of the comments reassured me that everyone has this kind of quirky behavior to a certain extent. This is one reason I love the internet: learning you’re not the only weirdo out there. Oh, and I totally win when I walk down the hallway and don’t crash into a wall or fall on my face, but this has less to do with OCD and more to do with IDS.

What is IDS, you ask? IDS stands for I’m a Dancer Syndrome. And before you tell me that’s not a real thing, I would like you to stop and listen.  IDS is real.  IDS is serious. IDS is a non-curable, chronic disorder that wreaks social and physical havoc and may or may not be hereditary. You see, my sister and I fall down a lot. A lot, a lot. An embarrassing amount of lot. And it’s strange, because my sister was a ballet dancer for most of her childhood and young adult years—she had no problem being graceful while doing ballet. I quit ballet in the second grade and am therefore a completely explainable klutz. In any event, she and I have both gotten ourselves into situations that the laws of physics seem to deny are possible.

One day, she fell at work and a coworker told her not to be embarrassed, but to wear it proudly. To jump right back up, raise her arms above her head, and shout, “I’m a dancer!” as if calling out, “I meant to do that!” She and I (and our mother, who suffers with a much milder form of the disorder) found this to be hilarious and have taken to doing exactly that when we fall down. This coping mechanism did not cure us (it wasn’t even a viable treatment) and we will continue to fall down.  But at least now we have something funny to say when we get back up.

And basically, this post just highlighted three of my very strange behaviors in an unplanned, stream of consciousness way. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I’m posting it anyway.