sleep like a royal
DON’T HAVE NAUSEA, MAN
I will save the details for my literary agent (or I would if I had one), but last night I dreamed an entire script of a play. It was an existential fable starring Bart Simpson (we may have some copyright problems), who more or less just wandered in the void and said strange things while becoming more and more despairing. One memorable line of dialogue:
Oh no, they seem to have been transformed into two wobbling sacks of flesh. [pause] Oh well, a wobbling sack is a wobbling sack!
MEET YOU IN THE CHERRY ORCHARD
If Chekov isn’t in here I’ll punch someone. Chekov was hot.
I BET EVERY HAIR IN HIS MUSTACHE HURTS
Oh how I giggled (quietly, to myself) at Target today, where I witnessed the most hungover Hipster Dad ever. He was ferrying an exuberant, happy-shrieking, proto-linguistic-babbling toddler in the shopping cart, and dude was just in seriously shitty shape. (The hipster, not the toddler. The toddler seemed in fine form.) You have to go easier on the PBR when you will be Solely Responsible the next day, sir. You also have my permission to ignore the AAP recommendations for today and put that baby in front of some educational television for a while. Oh I forgot, you don’t have a TV, so put the baby in front of Netflix or Sesame Street YouTube for a while and remind me again how those are not the same thing? Anyway.
THAT’S NOT WHERE THE TUBE GOES
Curse my excellent health insurance! Curse the professional consciences of doctors who want to be really, really, REALLY sure that I don’t have colon cancer, a bleeding ulcer, or some kind of intestinal gremlin that could be causing my lousy blood count and drastically dropping hemoglobin levels! I must be the weirdest gastroenterological patient that the gastroenterologist has, given my complete absence of gastroenterological* symptoms, but nonetheless he has decided that the blood thing warrants both the -oscopies! So next week the tube will go up my butt and down my throat—let’s hope they don’t use the same tube—and I will get the good sleepy drugs and have a free pass to nap and lounge around for the rest of the day. Unfortunately I also get to spend the day before** in the least fun way I can think of: not eating,*** drinking horrid laxative liquid, and visiting the bathroom a lot. I need to stock up on flushable wipes and reading material. And possibly install a wi-fi repeater on the side of the toilet.
OH IS THAT MORE THAN YOU WANTED TO KNOW? WELL TOO BAD.
*I really enjoy typing that word. People who wuss out with “GI” must not love typing as much as I do. Of course I am the freak who takes typing tests for fun.
**I was planning on going to work the day before, and only taking the actual procedure day off, until I got the prep instruction sheet. I don’t think I want to take a bunch of laxatives and get on the El.
***Or rather, having only “clear liquids,” which is a list of horrid junky foods. Jell-O, Sprite, popsicles, broth, hard candy. I try to be relaxed about food and fight my natural orthorexic tendencies, one fiber-free sugar-filled day won’t kill me, and of course I understand the purpose. But still, blah.
—mimi smartypants: seriously, blah.