In no particular order, I here are a few thoughts for the morning:
Apparently my Ambien makes me sleep walk. It also makes me go outside in my sleepclothes and smoke cigarettes at 2 AM. Another grand effect, to my dog’s dismay, is that I locked Jeckyl on the back patio and went back to sleep. I’m quite certain that my upstairs and downstairs neighbors just loved that. I’m sorry, Jeckyl. Perhaps it’s time to switch up the sleep aid.
I woke at 4 AM. It’s pouring rain and if I could think of a believable reason to call out from work today, I would be down like a flat tire. Unfortunately, I can’t think of anything and I need the money, so it looks like I’ll be hitting the hospital halls in T minus one hour. Hrmph.
Yesterday afternoon was one of the busiest days I’ve had in the past 4 years. We must have seen 200 patients, and while my busier days seem to fly right by, this day was dragging quite slowly. I sat down at my desk to begin working charts when my phone notification went off. Normally I ignore it, but something told me to go ahead and check it. I’m most certainly glad that I did, too! It seems that the lovely the mmmmm family has nominated me for ‘The Versatile Blogger Award’. I have to admit, this totally made my day. Ok, ok… It actually made my year. What can I say? I’ve never been nominated for any kind of anything when it comes to blogging, so once I read, and reread my notification, I was elated! I’ve just recently started blogging, so the notion that someone thought my blog entertaining enough to nominate surely made me feel fantastic – and grateful. I feel a bit under-dressed as I graciously accept my nomination, but hey – my “thank you” is just as heartfelt in my scrubs as it would be in any evening gown. So thank you, thank you, thank you! You’ve made my day!
It feels good when someone relates. I know it shouldn’t matter, but it gives me a whopping sense of elation when I see that little orange notification icon at the top of my screen. Forget the Golden Ticket, Charlie! This is way better! So, thank you so much the mmmmm family for making my ultra-dreadful day into a day of joy! I appreciate all who have come my way and thank you for reading and for the follows. You guys are awesome!!!
So, I’m hoping that I am not too late on this one. Here are the rules:
- Display the Award Certificate on your blog.
- Announce your win with a post. Make sure you post a link back to me as a ‘thank you’ for the nomination.
- Present 15 awards to 15 deserving bloggers.
- Leave them a comment to let them know after you have linked them to a post.
- Post 7 interesting things about yourself.
7 Interesting things about moi? Well, let’s see…
- When I was 15, I managed to sneak from my home in SC to NC for Lollapalooza 93. I jammed front row to Arrested Development, Primus, and many other awesome bands. I even got my nose pierced! Once I returned home from my “church trip”, my new nose ring was promptly snatched out, and I was grounded for 6 months. It was totally worth it.
- I’ve never really lived anywhere long enough to establish a set social circle. This was one of the many “perks” of being a military brat.
- I drink at least 7 cups of coffee a day. If I wake up without coffee, my day is thrown into a total funk and everyone in my path is destined to share my misery.
- My son will never know this, but he is named after the lead singer of Duran Duran.
- I am excellent fisherman! Nothing beats fishing from your own dock in Southwest Florida.
- I spent an entire summer learning how to help build a staircase, lay sheetrock, and turn an attic into an extra bedroom. Of course, the incentive was that this extra bedroom would be my own private bedroom with my own Swatch telephone.
- I’ve wanted to be a cardiothoracic surgeon since I was 7 years old.
There ya go! A few tidbits about me. Now, without further adieu – here are my nominations:
“Heckyl & Jeckyl Make Their Big Bust” – the nightly shenanigans between my two most beloved pups.
“The Face of Jesus or Kenny Loggins on my Best Friend’s Wheat Toast”- there really are not sensible words to begin to describe this fiasco. Soon enough, and she will kill me.
“Sleeping Like SpongeBob. Hop on the Deck and Flop Like a Fish!” – my nightly bedtime ritual of sorts.
“Praise n Gaze” – My peek into the idea of finding a suitor at Church.
I had to crawl from my bed and post these down as I would surely have forgotten by morning.
While I don’t normally review any sort of product, like, ever, I feel compelled to write a short review on this product. This is mainly because I suffer terribly from insomnia, and I know many other people struggle with the same issue.
Yesterday whilst strolling through my local grocer, I came upon a bottle of Febreze “Sleep Serenity” Spray. I glanced at it skeptically. “Yeah, right. My room will just wind up smelling like a French Whore (as my ex-stepfather used to say).” I study the label. “Warm Milk and Honey” it reads. I twist the nozzle, and spray.
Now, I’ve never actually smelled, or even considered the idea of Warm Milk and Honey, but lo and behold, I could have curled up right there on the waxed floor and drifted off to oblivion. I purchased it, rushed home, and doused my apartment in this new, comforting scent. It’s a warm, inviting fragrance. Not so much reminiscent of Grandma’s house, which is fine by me as Grandma’s house smells a little creepy in my opinion. It’s more of a fuzzy, soothing, lingering scent – lingering in a good way, unlike many of the sprays that smell terrifically refreshing for a moment, and then WHOOSH, it’s gone.
I highly recommend this product for anyone who’s into the whole aromatherapy thing, or for anyone who has gone out of their way and their minds to help induce a night of slumber. It’s pretty fantastic and worth the $2.58 I spent.
Febreze Warm Milk and Honey mixed with the Ambien tablet that I am about to devour, and I fully expect a good 6 hours of slumber to come. 🙂
Only time will tell. 🙂
I’ve come to two conclusions. The first being I am completely obsessed with the goings-on in the apartment above me, and secondly that the apartment above me is being inhabited by 150 people. My second conclusion further reinforces my first.
I’m not sure how they do it, but somehow they’ve managed to occupy the place to full capacity. I live in the largest of all the buildings on my block with 3 floors with 12 units in it. I’m smooshed right smack dab in the middle of everyone and everything, and I LOVE it. My upstairs neighbors are loud. Loooooud… And when I say loud, I mean there are times when I find myself wondering if they’re throwing dressers and tables and barbells and bowling balls across the house as some weird sort of midnight ritual. There have been times when I’ve wondered if The Harlem Globetrotters have taken residence above me. The family that lives above me moved here from India about 9 months ago. There are two elderly women, a couple of older men, a couple of mid-30’s men and women, a few younger college-aged kids, and 2 or 3 small children whom I see on a regular basis. They play loud Middle Eastern music that makes me smile despite the fact that my door frames are shaking and my dogs are howling throughout the songs. When I open my patio doors, I hear foreign conversation and laughter. I smell their cooking and wonder what they’re eating. I imagine whatever it is, it’s beautiful. I’ll bet it was handmade by Daadima and it’s as colorful and intricate as the dresses she wears. My upstairs neighbors are always friendly in passing. I’d be willing to bet that if I walked upstairs and asked to join them in the Heavenly feast they’re consuming, they would welcome me with no hesitation. They are super friendly. However, they do not make any apologies for their boisterous living above.
I remember one incident recently that had my mother reeling, ready to storm upstairs and totally blast off. We were sitting on the patio one evening, watching the sun float lazily over the lake. One of my favorite things to do after a long shift is to sit outside and drink cup after cup of coffee. I contemplate my day, clear my mind, and lose myself in my drink. Mom and I were talking about the day’s events, recounting the craziness at work and enjoying our little relaxation ritual, when suddenly we are surprised by a ritual from above.
Down pours a torrential stream of water from the patio above, through the crevices in the wooden planks that separate the neighbor’s floor from my patio ceiling. “What the Hellllllllll,” my mother cries, her Alabama drawl shrill and panicked. Another wave of liquid splashes down upon us, into my coffee, all over our scrubs, and covers the table. I jump up and push back my heavy, wrought iron chair. My mom looks up with bewilderment.
“Ohhhh nooooooo. I’ll be right there…” comes a voice from above, and suddenly I see a little eye peering through the crack above me. “Oh no, no, noooo… I’m coming. Please you wait. Be right there…” And before I know it, there is a knock at my front door, and a small Indian woman standing before me. I open the door and she is giggling nervously. “I am so sorry. I am so very sorry. This happen when I do offering, my prayer. I don’t mean to wet you. I should do this somewhere else, then, maybe, no…?” She produces a small, silver pot before me, and nods toward it. “See, my prayer.” She smiles, and I start giggling, too. “No, ma’am. You’re just fine. It was hot outside anyway. It’s really no bother at all.” It really is no worry, as she’s just reinforced my fascination with her family upstairs.
She smiles, heads back toward the stairs, then suddenly turns around. “Maybe you put plants on patio, and I water them, too. Yes?” I nod. “Yes, Ma’am.”
This is just one of the daily incidents that occur between my neighbors and I. It is typically one-sided, me wondering what they’re doing as they live their day to day lives.
Still, I am truly convinced, and you will never make me believe otherwise, that there are hundreds of people up there, dancing and running with bricks attached to their feet. There may be livestock up there, stomping around as I watch the white plaster crumble from the ceiling onto my bed at midnight. Perhaps they all have Pogo sticks. Perhaps they’re slam dancing. Perhaps they’re not really doing anything at all, except living, which is a lot more that I do in my apartment. My mother finds it strange that it doesn’t bother me. She finds it even more bizarre that I, well, love it.
“Doesn’t that drive you crazy? You should call and complain…”
“Nah. I like the raucous…” I say. As I lay in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, I thumb through all the wild scenarios in my mind. “Perhaps they’ve adopted an elephant…” Unlikely, but an enjoyable thought to entertain nonetheless.
I can only continue to speculate, and that’s just as entertaining to me….
Thank you for wasting 6 years of my life. Thank you for the nights you threw my laundry across the house, screamed in my face and shoved me into corners and laughed at me as I cried. Thank you for telling me that I wasn’t pretty enough by your Florida standards. Thank you for breaking my heart and my picture frames in the middle of each and every night. Thank you for making me afraid to lay in bed at night. Thank you for shouting as I lay motionless on the bedroom floor unable to get up by myself. Thank you for being drunk every single day that I’ve known you. Thank you for cheating and blaming me. Thank you for making me buy my own Birthday cake on my 30th birthday and even more, thank you for letting me go to the store to have Happy Birthday written to myself and expecting me to bring it home for my birthday celebration before your friends and family showed up for my party. Thank you for breaking my wrist, my ribs and my spirit. Thank you for stripping away my love for writing and painting and photography. Thank you for pushing me out of a moving truck in the middle of the woods in front of all of your sorry friends and threatening to fist fight me like a man. Thank you for letting me drive 26 hours straight on New Years Eve, alone, because you didn’t want to give up your trip to the Bahamas to go with me. Thank you for showing up drunk when I was in the hospital and promptly leaving before the liquor store closed. Thank you for cutting me off from my family and friends. Thank you for telling me how worthless and ugly I was. Thank God I had you to remind me everyday or I may have questioned it. Thank you for throwing the Easter dinner I prepared across the room and onto the floor for the dogs to eat because you were out of beer. Thank you for never being there for me. Thank you for thinking I would never leave, and thank you for believing me when I told you I wouldn’t.
Thank you for believing that I would put up with you for better or worse. Thank you for showing me what a real man isn’t. Thank you for going to that meeting in Tampa that rainy day in February. Thank you for calling me everyday since I left 5 years ago to tell me how your heart is broken without me. Thank you for your apologies. Thank you for crying about how you were wrong and how you loved me so much and you didn’t mean any of the horrible things you put me through.