Hour Nineteen

I am currently re-reading Twilight as a way to help keep me awake and active. It has been working surprisingly well, however there have been dilemnas.

For example, I never noticed how much Bella sleeps.

All the time.

Every chapter.

Aw crap.

Mr. Sandman

So lately my sleep schedule has been...unusual.
School starts on Monday and most days, I'll have to get up around nine am. Right now, I'm three hours away from going to bed at nine am. Two of my friends have the same issue, so tonight we decided to fix it.

We're staying up.

I woke up at five pm (Seriously! I have never in my life woken up at five pm!) today, puttered around for a bit, saw New Moon (you're not Team Jacob, you're Team Taylor Lautner, there is a difference), then went for coffee with said friends.

We got to Timmies around midnight, and then decided we wanted to play cards.

We didn't have any cards.

So we made them! I ripped up old panto pamphlets, one of the others labelled them and the other miscounted salt packets (aka our chips) and we spent three and a half hours playing poker.

It was kinda awesome. We're keeping the cards.

So now we're awake. And we're gonna stay awake until tomorrow evening (I know, we're gonna crash early on New Years Eve, whoops!), and then wake up on New Years Day at a perfectly respectable hour.

And hopefully keep that up from then on.

I think we can do it. Except we need motivation so I've made a list of things I want to get done.
Okay.

Here goes.

I <3 Tuxedo Mask

I wear nail polish because it makes me feel like Sailor Moon.

It's true.

Don't tell.

Just Bump It

I blame Tim Allen.

Watching Santa Clause II got me all hyped for presents and cheer, and consequently my room ended up covered in tape, littered with wrapping paper--there's a bow still stuck to my desk--and crumpled post-its are everywhere saying things like 'DVD for Mom' or 'nail polish for unknown'.

My sister had told us about her friend who used to receive presents from 'the Naughty Elf', 'Santa's Mistress', or 'Rudolph's Evil Twin' instead of Santa. She thought it was creepy, but her Mom thought it was hilarious, and so did we, so this Christmas, my sister received a gift from Farmville.

New tradition? I think so.

Since I had been rudely awoken at eight thirty (a.m.!), I went back to bed after all the presents were opened on Christmas day. When I woke up several hours later, I was late, still needed a shower, and relatives were due to arrive any minute. Oops.

They arrived, I greeted them with wet hair, and the chaos descended. No one really noticed the creepy name tags, but they were still worth it.

Dinner, card games, and Cornation Street scene-it later, Christmas was over and we all stumbled into bed (literally in my case, since my parents blow up bed was in my room and there was no space to walk).

For the second time in a row, I was abruptly awoken, this time by my little cousin.

The adults were all talking downstairs, her brother was off playing a game, and she was determined to get me out of bed. In some cruel twist of fate, she is both persistant and a morning person.

I am neither. I earnestly tried to convince her that I would get up soon and meet her downstairs (yeah, right) but she shook her head and said, "Now."

I know it's lame to let a six-year-old boss you around, but she always has the option of crying. Or screaming. Or just wailing in the middle of the room until she gets her way.

...okay, I let the six-year-old boss me around.

I got out of bed. I then tried to convince that since it would take me a while to get dressed and ready, she might as well wait downstairs.

"Now."

Fine. I ended up brushing her hair for thirty minutes while re-telling all the fairy tales I could think of. I think it's fair to say that she got her way.

Drink lots of fluids, call if you feel sick, and no strenuous activity.

It's possible that I'm a moron.

I'm not saying it's true! Just possible.

Today, I gave blood. Everything was going fine, my iron levels were good, my temperature was fine (the second time round, I might be getting sick, yetch), I haven't had sex with a man who's had sex with a man who contradicted AIDS in Africa, yadda yadda yadda. Surprisingly, I was done rather quickly, then ate some cookies and off I went.

Right in time to seem my bus drive pass. Darn.

So, being the bright, intellectual, academically-inclined person that I am, I decided to walk.

One of the things they tell you after giving blood is to avoid strenuous activity. Now, I assumed that translated as, don't run a marathon, don't go rock climbing, do use this as an excuse not to vacuum.

Apparently, it also meant don't walk.

From the clinic to my house, it's about a thirty minute walk. Not a big deal. Off I went, humming 'Merry Chrisislamakwansica' under my breath.

Twenty five minutes into this walk, I realized something was wrong.

When texting to say I'd be home soon, I had to physically slow down because I couldn't concentrate on my phone and the path ahead. I'm a teenager: I can text anywhere anytime anyplace. This was not good.

I put my phone away and that was when I realized that if I didn't stop, my body was going to. I stopped and woah, dizziness. My heart was racing, my skin was clammy and I felt like I was a step away from fainting.

How exactly had I not noticed that?

I took a moment, but I was so close to home that it seemed ridiculous to stop.

I took another step.

Wrong move. I swayed but managed to stay upright long enough to think, oh gee I should sit, and then I sat. At the side of the road. Alone. In the dark.

Another two minutes and I'd be home! If I could just get off my ass...

A failed attempt at standing was all I needed to get out my phone and call home. Sure, it'd be a thirty second ride, but I was desperate. Last thing I needed was to wake up with bugs stabbing at me 'cause I conked out at the side of the road. Or worse.

I managed to stand and walk another thirty paces before I saw my ride. They didn't ask why I'd wanted to be picked up at the side of the road two minutes from home, and that was probably for the best.

Now I'm at home, lying in bed, studying the hole in my elbow, and wondering if a fear of needles is rational.

Yup, I'm a moron.

Rumplestiltskin

I am going to write a pantomime.

I don't know when or, honestly, how, but I'm going to and it's going to be epic.

Or at least mediocre.

Life Lesson.

Manical laughter. Thunder. Lightning.

This is awesome, honestly. I feel so evil, except I didn't do anything evil, they just did something stupid!

Texas. Poor, poor racist/sexist/discriminatory Texas. They tried so hard to ban any and all forms of gay marriage that they accidentally banned ALL marriage in the process.

See children, that's what happens when you're pigheaded.

The Solution To Our Problems

When I was little (well, younger), I would drink warm milk while writing.

My sister was confused by this healthy habit. She announced that I must have added sugar.

She didn't believe me when I said no.

Ever courageous (and still believing that sugar is the solution to everything), she stuck some milk in the microwave, added a heaping spoonful of sugar, and gulped it down.

The look on her face said it all.

And then the teacher let us finger paint and then we ate animal crackers and Jamie called me stupid so I said, "I am rubber, you are glue!"

I'm not that whiny, honest.

But somehow, in my playwriting class, all the characters I've played during the entire semester are high-pitched, whiny brats.

My first monologue (previously posted) involves a 14-year-old very energetic girl. A couple times I've read out in class, and the character has always been weird. And today, for our group play, I was a seven-year-old girl that talks rapidly and giggles.

Afterwards, even one of the guys commented on it.

I've been typecasted. As a child.

To Keep My Love Alive

Today, while discussing the battered wife syndrome, my Crim teacher said it's not a good defence for those of us looking to kill our husbands, and as he said it, he looked directly at me.

Thanks, really.

Mandrake Roots

The other day in my English class, a kid was in front of the class doing a presentation of John Donne's 'Song'.

The poem references a mandrake root, so the kid (well, a kid in his mid 20's) was describing all the different connotations they have.

He explained how the root looks like a human body and how folklore says they scream when you uproot them.

Then someone in the back went, "Like in Harry Potter?"

Suddenly, everyone knew knew exactly what a mandrake root is.

Score one for college :D

Oh.

You know when sometimes there's that moment of they like me, they really like me!

I get that sometimes.

It's kinda epic.

Also epic: gossping and chatting and laughing so hard you push on a pull door at the same time your friend does. Then there's that moment of, why isn't the door openin--oh.