2:15 a.m. Tuesday morning. Can’t knock out yet. Trying to lasso the stampede of buffaloes in my head enough to sleep. I know a lot of parents who take their kids on car rides in order to put them down. This would actually work for me except for the fact that I would be behind the wheel and probably barreling down the freeway doing eighty when I finally accomplished the task.
For some reason, I can’t think of the term for sleeplessness.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Garage Sale Day
Let me give you an idea: when you’re starting to fantasize about your house burning down, it’s time to have a garage sale. We did that today and there are no words to describe it. I’m making a commitment now that I will never buy something other than a house or a car for the rest of my life. I want to buy space. Not “things” but the “absence of things.”
It was going to my head today. People were trying to negotiate lower prices with me and I always automatically went with the first price they quoted.
“How much is this?”
“I don’t know. Ten dollars.”
“How ‘bout five?”
“Sure.”
It was beautiful to me. Because in my head, when they asked me the question the first time I had to fight the impulse to say, “Just take it! It’s free! Don’t you get it! It’s junk!!! I don’t want it!!! If you ask me, I’ll pay you to take it away."
I clearly recognize that this would affect sales numbers at the end of the day. But I can’t bring myself to care.
I discovered this whole garage-saling world out there today. They’re amazing how they’ll rifle through these piles of clothes and books and examine these products that look they’ve been parked in someone’s garage since the first world war.
It gives me stress to own this stuff but to actually get a chance to see people who go out and pay to take it off your hands just stuns me.
The one depressing thing I found was that we pulled out a certain amount from the garage, sold $300 worth of stuff and then, somehow, when we put things back in the garage we had more than what we started with in the first place. This is a cruel joke.
It was going to my head today. People were trying to negotiate lower prices with me and I always automatically went with the first price they quoted.
“How much is this?”
“I don’t know. Ten dollars.”
“How ‘bout five?”
“Sure.”
It was beautiful to me. Because in my head, when they asked me the question the first time I had to fight the impulse to say, “Just take it! It’s free! Don’t you get it! It’s junk!!! I don’t want it!!! If you ask me, I’ll pay you to take it away."
I clearly recognize that this would affect sales numbers at the end of the day. But I can’t bring myself to care.
I discovered this whole garage-saling world out there today. They’re amazing how they’ll rifle through these piles of clothes and books and examine these products that look they’ve been parked in someone’s garage since the first world war.
It gives me stress to own this stuff but to actually get a chance to see people who go out and pay to take it off your hands just stuns me.
The one depressing thing I found was that we pulled out a certain amount from the garage, sold $300 worth of stuff and then, somehow, when we put things back in the garage we had more than what we started with in the first place. This is a cruel joke.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Boredom Marathon/ Jury Duty
For the first time in my life, I've joined the ultra-responsible in their proverbial "civic responsibility." I'm waiting for jury selection. They haven't called my name yet and I've been waiting here for six hours!!!!!!!!!
Get a grip. Get a grip.
This is mindless.
We're all waiting in a large room for hours upon hours with very few of us actually wanting to talk to the other person. In the entire one hundred person room, I hear like four people whispering to each other under their breath. The rest of us are staring at books wishing we were somewhere else. I think I found purgatory. I'm trying to keep myself from looking at my watch every sixty seconds but it's torture. It's like time is playing a trick on me.
This is painstaking!
I wonder if any one has ever committed a crime after going stark raving mad while waiting for jury selection. All they would have to do is just transfer me from the sixth floor to the fourth floor where the inmates are being held. They're probably at least talking about something. I want to inform people behind me that there is really no reason to whisper. But I'm a hypocrite. I would whisper too.
Ah ha! Just got a text from my friend Pete. I will investigate.
Get a grip. Get a grip.
This is mindless.
We're all waiting in a large room for hours upon hours with very few of us actually wanting to talk to the other person. In the entire one hundred person room, I hear like four people whispering to each other under their breath. The rest of us are staring at books wishing we were somewhere else. I think I found purgatory. I'm trying to keep myself from looking at my watch every sixty seconds but it's torture. It's like time is playing a trick on me.
This is painstaking!
I wonder if any one has ever committed a crime after going stark raving mad while waiting for jury selection. All they would have to do is just transfer me from the sixth floor to the fourth floor where the inmates are being held. They're probably at least talking about something. I want to inform people behind me that there is really no reason to whisper. But I'm a hypocrite. I would whisper too.
Ah ha! Just got a text from my friend Pete. I will investigate.
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