No, I’m not talking about the upcoming holidays, although they are pretty magical too- holidays are the only time I really feel genuinely happy, no matter what is happening in my awkward life.
I’m talking about that time at night, you know- where you want to be asleep, so very badly, and you can’t reach the REM. That time of night when you read something, listen to your Ipod, wander around aimlessly and start flicking lights on and off. You could be like me, and when you can’t sleep you try to make yourself tired with exercise (I prefer dancing; cardio with some sass). But inevitably you know what’s coming, and you know what you’re avoiding. That time of night where you begin to think.
Thinking, it truly is a gift of God (or of highly evolved genetics through science, whatever you believe). But any time after 1 a.m., thinking becomes my own personal purgatory where I go through my past. It doesn’t matter where I start in thought, it always leads back to my bad habit of dwelling.
Tonight, for example. After reading half a novel, hunting for my Ipod with no luck(curse you Steve Jobs for making it so much easier to be a music addict these days!), turning my fan off, then back on, then back off, then back on and grabbing a jacket, waking my dog up for no apparent reason other than to annoy it by trying to force it to play ball at 2 a.m., and trying to memorize the lyrics to johnny cash’s “I’ve been everywhere”… I just gave up and gave in.
I started thinking about what I witnessed at family dinner. Started with a laugh, because what I witnessed was a spectacle, that’s for sure. Here I am, enjoying a nice Spanish meal with my parents in a classy establishment downtown, and I see a fat, loud, old, drunk woman dancing in the middle of a restaurant. Good Lord, that is the last thing I want to become- age is inevitable, and so is loud for me apparently, and I like a drink now and again… but fat and desperate for attention? No. I draw the line.
And that’s where the downward spiral began.
…Oh Lord, I have really put on some weight this semester,like that woman. Not as much, but a start, and lost my tan.Well, it’s not like it’s completely my fault… I had my heart ripped out savagely at the beginning of it. I bet he doesn’t even care, though I don’t blame him, I did scare him. And to be fair he was just a rebound from a rebound from a rebound from my ex. What would I be like had I not broken up with my ex? What would I be like had I been more extroverted in high school? Had I joined in on soccer a few years earlier? had I not been in advanced classes in middle school? What if my second best friend hadn’t stolen the kid I had a crush on in elementary school? What if my real best friend hadn’t moved away when I was little? …
If my thoughts continued in this process, I would legitimately think myself back into the womb I’m pretty sure. But don’t worry, my little spastic, spacy brain has built its own self defense system to stop that time warp!
ENGAGING- SECOND GENERATION OF THOUGHTS.
…You know this would all be easier if I was just filthy rich. Rich people are always prettier, even if they are dumber, cause they have the money to blow to fix all their problems. betches. Or if I was just born in another generation? what if I had been born in the 50s? I’d be married by now, probably with 1000 children. well hopefully not that many, I’m not a child cannon. But I’d still be wearing these sick nasty rayban glasses. and a poodle skirt, hell yeah. what if I was born in another country? Not Iraq, mmm mmm, negative. No way am I wearing a burka in 10000 degree weather- stone me to death, it’s not worth it. Maybe Canada, but they’re kindof pansies.AUSTRALIA. definitely Australia. EW AND what if I had been born a boy? that’s disgusting, I don’t want my genitals flailing around on the outside of my body, always thinking about banging, well, everything. What would it be like though? No idea, but if I had a boy name no way would I accept the name my dad always claims. Ferdinand. pfft. Ferdie? really dad?…
In the period of 30 minutes, I hated on myself from now back to the age of five, and also lived out the life of an airhead heiress, a 1950s housewife with too many children, a foreigner, and a boy named Ferdinand. 99 problems and my mind is one.
So now that I’m almost absolutely sure that you must think I’m completely insane from a casual cruise down my head highway, I want you to think about what you think about when you can’t sleep.
&& I hope, mostly for my amusement but a little for your sake, that it’s just as crazy, at least some of the time, cause they lead to conclusions like these:
1) I’m not crazy, although I do have an overactive imagination (but I know someday that’ll help me in the bedroom. you’re welcome future husband XO)
2) I don’t want to be an heiress, or a foreigner, or a boy named ferdie, or an oppressed 50’s housewife with a litter.
3)I don’t want to change the fact I got my heart broken this year, or that I broke his heart last February, or that I was reserved in high-school, or that I was fat of in middle-school, or that my first crush was stolen, or that my best friend moved away. When I first look at that it looks really depressing, maybe I should be upset. But if none of that happened, I wouldn’t be so driven, and extroverted, or caring yet sassy. I wouldn’t have my hipster girl swag mixed with my firecracker loudmouth that gets me in trouble. I wouldn’t have my wonderful parents, and a sister that I admire, and friends that I truly count on today. And quite frankly, I wouldn’t give any of that up knowingly.
2:26 A.M. is a beautiful time, and now that I’ve made peace with tonight’s magic hour, it’s time to sleep.
P.S. You thought this was going to be some big epiphany didn’t you? I go through this every night I can’t sleep. Yeah, now I KNOW you think I’m crazy. But don’t worry, it’s different thoughts every time. Sometimes I’m an oppressed 20’s wife. Seriously though, the thoughts are always different. As Ferdinand would say-
“Get off my dick.”