Golden Sleep Doth Reign...Where?

Yesterday marked the one-month anniversary of my current bout of insomnia.  After a month of not sleeping, I've gotta admit I'm pretty damn tired.  I think my body is gradually collapsing from the inside out.  And I'm starting to hallucinate. 

This prolonged sleep disturbance has led me to the following list of helpful observations.

Signs You Could Use Some Sleep:

(1) You begin questioning your right to exist.
As you lie awake in bed for the third, twelfth, or twenty-fifth night in a row, you find yourself wondering:  How is this evolutionarily possible?  How, after thousands of years of mutation and development, am I one of the fittest of my species, worthy of survival? I can't even perform a basic life function.  You decide that you only exist because of some flaw that slipped through the cracks of human adaptation and feel even better about your decision to abstain from breeding, as the evolutionary error will die with you.

(2) Your perception of the world becomes far too interesting.

My new friends

Lots of things start happening, particularly in your peripheral vision, that are not actually happening.  You may be found waving imaginary bugs out of your face or having an extreme startle reflex for no reason.  Driving a car at this point is probably not such a good idea.

(3) Your motor functioning goes to shit.
You don't know if it's because your brain and body are no longer on speaking terms or your spatial abilities have just gone on vacation.  What you do know is that you drop half the things you try to pick up and knock over the other half.

(4) You start saying bizarre things.  
The pathway between your brain and your mouth apparently has been severed, so you think certain words, but then you say other words.  For example, a couple of weeks ago I started saying suicide instead of insomnia (e.g., "My suicide is really starting to piss me off").  

If you have an upcoming court date, try to get a continuance to sometime in the future, after you and sleep have reunited.  With your inability to control what comes out of your mouth, you could go in to fight a parking ticket and end up getting 30 days for contempt. 

"WHAT did you just say?!"

Yup, suicide is a trip.  I mean insomnia!  Insomnia is a trip.  Not a happy trip, mind you, like a springtime jaunt to the Netherlands to see tulips.  No, it's more like a journey to Bangladesh during monsoon season.  

What's beginning to concern me is the fact that the effects of staying up all night, night after night, are bothering me less and less as each waking day passes seamlessly into the next.  It's just expected.  I fear that crazy is slowly becoming my new normal. 

As my sleepless nights give way to new days full of existential crises, visual hallucinations, ludicrous slips of the tongue, and multiple spacial mishaps, I give praise and thanks to whoever invented coffee.  Without it, I think I'd already be committed.

Recognizing Tailwinds

Because they are a long stretch of islands with one huge body of water (the Atlantic Ocean) on one side and another huge body of water (the Gulf of Mexico) on the other, the Florida Keys are really windy.  The wind comes from all around, blowing palm fronds madly, sending birds hurtling through the air, and thrusting intoxicated vacationers off piers and into the ocean.  As I'm sure you can imagine, this level of windiness makes for some very interesting bike riding.

Over the past several weeks, I've realized something interesting about the way I experience biking.  When I'm riding with a tailwind, I don't even notice that I'm being assisted.  I just bike along like, "Tra la la!" without thinking of the benevolent force that's giving me a boost.  Helpful as it is, a tailwind feels like nothing.

A headwind, on the other hand, is quite noticeable, in that it is horribly torturous and evil.  When I turn into a headwind, I immediately transform into Boo-Hoo Biker.  I sweat profusely, gasp for air, and jut out my lower lip like a two year-old.  As the wind does its best to blow me backwards, I curse air and everything it stands for.

Here I am utilizing a green plane to represent Boo-Hoo Biker

My aunt once said that she wished people could experience a lack of pain as acutely as we experience pain.  If you sprain your ankle or tweak your back, you know it.  It bugs you constantly, and with each movement you lament your injury and feel like crap.  However, if your ankle or back doesn't hurt, you don't notice.  You simply go about your day, like Al riding with a tailwind, not thinking, You know what?  My ankle and back feel just fine!  How delightful!


This manner of experiencing pain, or no pain, creates a mode of existence in which we feel grumpy when things go wrong, but don't recognize or appreciate when things go right.  This is a problem, because it leads to one honing the ability to feel sorry for herself while ignoring opportunities to be grateful.  And that's bad.  Self-pity coupled with complacency is a combination destined for disaster.

In that same vein, it's problematic that things that are bad for us can cause no pain, while things that are good for us sometimes do.  Take, for example, smoking meth vs. climbing a mountain (or, say, riding into a headwind).  What kind of flaw in evolution creates beings who feel perfectly fine (or even absolutely fabulous) while poisoning their bodies and destroying their brains, but feel exhausted and miserable while they're building muscle and strengthening their hearts?

I've decided to stop trusting my pain receptors so much.  Sometimes they're just not very smart.  Therefore, I plan to stop whining in the face of pain.  Recognizing that some pain is good for me, I will appreciate challenges, even if they're painful.  Instead of thinking, Fuck you, headwind!  Die!  Die!  I'll try to think, This headwind is helping me get killer legs, and I'm fighting heart disease!  Woo hoo!

Seriously, this is awesome.

I also want to make a point each day to acknowledge my lack of pain, and how miraculous it is that, with all of its complex circuitry and opportunities for failure, my body is managing to function quite well. 

It's time to start recognizing tailwinds.  When I'm biking along merrily, not getting slammed in the face by an unrelenting wall of air, I need to take a moment to think, A tailwind is pushing me along right now.  That's cool.  Similarly, I should take time to appreciate the more abstract tailwinds in my life - the cast of characters (friends and family) who make me laugh and check in with me to make sure I'm doing okay; the air, food, and water quality I have the privilege to enjoy; the comfy, warm bed I get to sleep in each night...the list goes on and on.  I have a shit ton of tailwinds, and they tend to go unnoticed despite their awesomeness.

I know it's not New Year's, but it is Pi Day, so here is my Pi Day resolution:  I will work to recognize tailwinds and appreciate headwinds 3.14 times more exuberantly than I have in the past.

:)  Happy Pi Day, folks.

Clowns Are Mofos

For several years, I have proudly displayed the above sticker on the bumper of my car.  Most people who see it probably think, "Ah, yes - another one of those town/region stickers," and then merrily go about their days.  I'm certain the majority of them don't bother straining their eyes to see that CAM actually stands for CLOWNS ARE MOFOS.  Which they totally are.  Fuck clowns.

No one likes clowns.  I firmly believe this.  I don't think clowns even like themselves.  How could they?  What's to like?  The gaudy, oversized clothes and shoes?  The horribly terrifying "I'll-giggle-while-killing-you" makeup?  The completely unfunny acts of crushing themselves into tiny cars or fake tripping & falling?  No.  The only positive thing clowns do is get mauled by bulls.  Now THAT is funny.  Everything else they do is inexcusably revolting.

I realize it's a little ridiculous to be 37 years old and afraid of clowns.  In fact, lately I've been hearing from various peers that their school-aged children share my fear.  "My six year-old told me today that he's afraid of clowns, too!" I guess I should be embarrassed, but I'm not.  I just think those kids are incredibly intuitive.  They understand that clowns are only pretending to be fun-loving and innocent, when what they truly want is to squirt us with acid stored in the fake flowers on their lapels, or pull machetes out of their baggy pants and chop our heads off, or simply grab us & eat our faces.  You know what would've made Hannibal Lecter even scarier?  A goddamn red, rubber nose.

"Can't sleep.  Clown'll eat me."

Recently, I was texting with my friend's nine year-old about our mutual fear of those wretched clown creatures, and we had the following exchange:

Her:  "The biggest fear I have is a boat filled with spiders driven by a clown with NO CANDY."

Me:  "My biggest fear is a shark who is also a doctor, and he's wearing clown makeup!"

Her:  "I would be so scared if he was on the spider clown boat with no candy.  I would definitely not go there for vacation."

I'm glad we could share such legitimate concerns.  It reminded me of a conversation I had with my sister several years ago regarding my husband's fear of bridges.  It went like this:

Sister:  "How will he deal with living in Portland?  Aren't there a million bridges?"

Me:  "Well, he's gonna have to get over that.  It's silly, anyway.  He thinks he's going to drive off the side or something."

Sister:  "Why would he do that?  Besides, even if he tried, there are barriers to prevent it."

Me:  "I know.  It's completely irrational.  Now a fear of clowns, on the other hand, is totally justified, because clowns kill people all the time."

Sister:  "Yes.  Excellent point."    

The lesser-known conclusion to FDR's famous statement

Clowns are evil.  They should be illegal.  At best, they galumph around like hideous simpletons in floppy shoes and are wholly unfunny.  At worst, they want to cannibalize us.  It's true.  Ask anyone, except for a clown.  Never trust a clown.  They only want to kill you.

And so, in conclusion:

Because the only good clown...

Seriously, though, I really hate those mofos.

Guns & Gratitude

When I first came off Orcas Island in mid-December, following three months of relative seclusion, I found myself preoccupied by the various and sundry ways in which humans are hazardous to one's health.  To name but a few examples:

• They say dumb things.  I believe this requires no further explanation.
• They do terrible things.  The day before I left Orcas, a young man shot up a fucking elementary school.  As if that wasn't bad enough, we were then subjected to the media's ill-conceived response ("Who's to blame?  Could it be YOU?!?!?") and a painful descent into the world of American gun control debates (more on that later).
• They are contaminated.  For the three months I was alone on Orcas, I experienced perfect health.  About 15 minutes after my return to the human-saturated mainland, I started coughing like crazy.  People are walking germ factories.  They are snot monsters and flu-flingers, on an endless crusade to kill one another.

Yeah.  Quit breathing and touching things.

However, I soon realized that this way of thinking was not particularly helpful.  I need to coexist with other humans, so viewing them as cacophonous, evil Petri dishes of infection does not particularly serve me.  Therefore, several weeks ago I made the decision to focus on gratitude instead, and it's a good thing, because soon after leaving Orcas, I had to take a flight from Massachusetts to North Carolina with my sick sister, a sick one year-old, and two cats.  Such an experience can certainly test one's ability to be grateful.

For a situation so rife with disastrous potential, in truth it did not prove difficult to remain focused on gratitude.  When we arrived at Logan Airport, it wasn't crowded at all.  It was practically deserted.  Our lovely friend, who had graciously given us a ride, helped us carry our things inside, and no cops yelled at her for leaving her car parked on the curb.  The TSA guy was shockingly helpful.  He said my nephew reminded him of his grandson, and he did everything in his power to ease our passage through security (although he also suggested we alleviate our burdens by throwing the cats in the garbage).  I told the people behind us in the security line that they could go ahead, and they said it was okay - they weren't in any hurry.  They were all too busy cooing and making goo-goo eyes at my nephew.

People fucking love babies.  If you have one with you, they automatically like you better.  Their decorum and intelligence appear to fall by the wayside as soon as a baby comes into their line of sight, and they begin babbling, squealing, and giggling madly.  This took me by surprise during our airport experience, but I soon realized that most people feel about babies the way I feel about dogs.  When I see a baby, I tend to think, Oh, God, please don't make eye contact.  Just keep moving.  However, when I see a dog, I immediately become filled with happiness and begin making high-pitched noises in an attempt to attract its attention.

See, I would totally squeal if I saw this dog.  The kid?  Not so much.

The man sitting next to us on the plane, who was reading some pop psychology book about people's metaphorical "positive buckets," loved my nephew and told my sister and me that we had filled his positive bucket for the day.  This may be due to the fact that we kept plying him with chocolate truffles, which we'd brought along to pacify folks sitting around us in the event that my nephew started screaming his head off or the cats began yowling or released their bowels, which would have been catastrophic in that enclosed space.  Thankfully, none of those things happened.

My nephew did great.  He played for two hours and slept for one.  He smiled at all the people and warmed their baby-loving hearts.  The cats refrained from barfing or pooping and were blessedly silent, even when I tilted their crates vertically to get them under the seats and then kicked them repeatedly (gently, but still) to force them into place.  Days before the flight, my sister had read information about traveling with cats, and several folks had advised, "Make sure your cat has access to plenty of water throughout the trip."  Great idea.  I'm sure the cats would've loved getting crammed under the seats even more if they'd had water splashing all over and soaking them.

I.  Hate you.

All in all, the trip went swimmingly, and we landed in Charlotte with a happy baby, two dry cats, and smiles (not even fake ones) on our faces. 

The thing in my life for which I am currently most grateful is my nephew.  He is hilarious, mischievous, and has taught me several fascinating games, including Imaginary Vacuum, Imaginary Cooking, Crazy Dance Party, Torment the Cats, and Empty the Cabinets.  In return, I've taught him to say, "What the...?" and emit a prolonged, dramatic groan whenever he reaches for something.  His parents are very grateful for my influence.

Here we are together.  He has some growing to do.

Babies do gross things, like soak you with pee while they're sleeping on your lap, sneeze food in your face, and poop everywhere.  But none of those behaviors really bothers me.  The only thing my nephew does that I find completely revolting is when he grabs my shirt and starts rooting around at my boobs.  That makes me want to barf.  However, I know it's not his intention to disgust his auntie with that creepy, parasitic behavior.  One day he'll come to understand that some women's boobs are for recreational use only.

Okay, enough about gratitude and boobs.  Let's talk about guns.  The gun control debate was actually what inspired me to revive this blog in the first place, but then I decided I'd rather focus on gratitude and my nephew than on guns and idiots.  But here's what I think.  There's a reason civilians get to drive cars (even very large ones), but not tanks.  That reason is this:  if some rando gets particularly drunk, angry, and/or crazy, that person shouldn't have at his or her fingertips the ready option of blowing up a skyscraper and killing a thousand people.  Similarly, if you want a gun, fine.  Have a gun.  But the average person should not have access to the kind of firepower that was designed for fighting wars.  That weaponry should be solely in the hands of people who are fighting wars.  Just like tanks.

Well, I guess if you REALLY need a tank, you could have one like this.

I think the crux of the problem is Americans misunderstanding the concept of freedom.  American freedom is supposed to be about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, not just for each individual, but as a nation of people.  Unfortunately, many Americans seem to define freedom this way:  "I should be able to have whatever I want whenever I want it, without having to think about any other living thing on Earth, because thinking has nothing to do with freedom.  If I want it, I should be able to have it.  So there.  Nanny-nanny boo-boo."  And that's just stupid.  We've become a nation of spoiled, whiny, temper-tantrumming toddlers.  It's embarrassing.

Okay, enough about guns.  I'd like to reboard the gratitude train.  As I sit in Florida listening to palm fronds blowing in the wind, I feel endlessly grateful for my husband and his understanding that I could not possibly spend one more winter in Portland.  After three years in that waterlogged town, I have come to the conclusion that I am, in fact, made of sugar, and exposure to prolonged rains will indeed cause me to melt.  It's hard to focus on gratitude after one has melted.

Although this guy seems pretty happy

Temporary Retirement

Today is the second birthday of If Satan Were Anal Retentive, and I've decided that's as good a time as any to set this blog down for a bit and give it a rest.

I'm a big fan of temporary retirement.  It offers a great opportunity to press a reset button, take a breath, and see what happens next.

Over the next several months, I'll be focusing on some pretty significant tasks, such as:  

• attempting to get my books published (impossible as that may seem)
• finding a new place for my family to live
• securing a source of income so I can get a puppy

Yup.  Lots to do.  But I'm looking forward to all of it.

Is it bad that I've already named the puppy I don't have yet?

Many thanks to those of you who not only read this silliness but also encourage it.  I imagine I'll pick up I.S.W.A.R. again in the not too distant future.  I'm far too opinionated to stay quiet for long.

I also find no end of amusement in posing this way for pictures.

My Postmortem Crush

I heart you, Robert.

Since I've been living on Orcas Island, I have fallen in love with a dead man.  Some of you may think that's weird, but here's the thing:  I'm pretty weird.  I resigned myself to that fact many years ago.  So really, falling for a dead guy is just par for the course.

I have become most infatuated with Robert Moran, the man responsible for Moran State Park - one of the most lovely places I've ever been - and a man who also happens to have died 32 years before I was born.

Something tells me this will end with:  "He loves me not...because he's dead."

If you're married, it must be a little strange having your spouse tell you she's fallen for someone who's deceased.  When I told my husband about my growing feelings for Robert, I think he may have experienced about 3 seconds of defensiveness before remembering I was talking about a dead man.  At that point, I believe his predominant feeling shifted to one in the "how-on-earth-did-I-end-up-married-to-this-person" category.

Here is why I love Robert Moran:

He believed in the healing properties of forests, mountains, and water. 

So do I!

He could feel there was magic on Orcas Island. 

So can I!

He was an amateur photographer. 

So am I!

He loved introducing his loved ones to beautiful places. 

So do I!

He was a multimillionaire philanthropist. 

Um...I've totally heard of those people!

And that is why I love the man who set aside almost 4000 acres of his personal property to create a place people could enjoy eternally.  Robert, you rock.  You're my dead BFF.

What a guy!

Cheap Like Free

Soon after beginning careers in public education and social services, my sister and I realized that we were never going to be raking in the dough. Several years ago she came to visit me in California, and in choosing our activities for the week, our primary criterion was:  "Cheap.  Like free." Since then, Cheap Like Free! has been one of my battle cries.

I think about "cheap like free" a great deal here on Orcas. Since I presently have no income and want to hold onto my meager savings for as long as possible so I can continue this full-time writing gig, I engage in many cheap like free activities. Here are some examples:

#1 - Stare out the window

But don't think for one moment you'll look this cute while you're doing it

Staring out the window is totally free. It is especially enjoyable these days because my neighbor has adorable dogs who run around and play all the time, my lawn is visited by deer each morning, and a resident bald eagle flies past at least once a day. It might not be as fun if your window faces a brick wall, but I guess that's where your imagination would need to kick in. And conveniently enough, imagining stuff is also cheap like free.

#2 - Hike. A lot. In general, walk everywhere. Until you wear out all of your shoes, walking is completely free. While you're walking, if you encounter little pretty things, consider picking them up and putting them somewhere other people will be likely to see them. This is part of the culture on Orcas, and it is precious. If you already have a camera, take pictures.  This is also cheap like free, and really fun.

#3 - Clean

Y not, indeed?  It's free!

These days, I clean my home like a mad fiend. However, this particular cheap like free activity has motivated me to think really hard about alternatives, since cleaning pretty much sucks and is super boring. And that brings us to our next cheap like free activity, namely...

#4 - Think about stuff

There are so many things to think about that this activity can take up lots of time.  Since smiling (which is also free) has several health benefits (e.g., reducing stress; lowering blood pressure; boosting your immune system), try thinking happy thoughts.  Recall funny occurrences from the past or other fond memories. For example, you could think about the looks on the faces of Mitt Romney's supporters when it finally dawned on them that he'd lost the election. Ha!

#5 - Write. There is an infinite amount of writing to do. Write emails to your loved ones. Write blog posts. Write two novels at the same time. Write to your pen pal. If you don't have a pen pal, get one. If you hate writing, then read. There is also an absurd amount of reading to do. If you don't like writing OR reading...well, then you're probably not reading this. But if, for some weird reason, someone who doesn't like reading is reading this:  what the hell is wrong with you? Learn to like reading! You are depriving yourself of some ideal cheap like freeness!

#6 - Talk to people. This, of course, is not my preferred activity, but I sometimes do it anyway, simply by virtue of the fact that it is free. 

Yeah, cheap like free!

#7 - Talk to yourself. I do this a whole lot more than #6.

#8 - Attend free community events - all of them, even if it means you're a regular at children's story time at the public library. (Don't knock it till ya try it! Sometimes the readers use funny voices to represent the different characters, and it's fabulous.)  And speaking of the library...

#9 - Go to the library

My home away from home these days

I've got big heart love for the library. I can hang out for hours without spending any money, and no one questions my right to be there. That is very unusual for your typical indoor venue. In the San Juan Islands, walk-on passengers can ferry between the islands for free, so sometimes I take the hour-long journey over to Friday Harbor just to hang out in their library.

#10 - Volunteer. And if the place where you're volunteering happens to be within walking distance (like the animal shelter located 2 miles from my house), by the time you walk there, volunteer for a few hours, and walk home, you've taken a big ole chunk of free out of your day.

People will also thank you profusely and tell you how awesome you are, which is always nice

#11 - Drink water. Water is totally free. I drink so much water that my pee is basically clear. If your budget allows for cheap-but-not-completely-free, try drinking coffee, tea, lemonade, cocoa, or pretty much any other beverage that is NOT ALCOHOL. To explain the intensity behind my all-caps declaration, I offer this poignant tale.

I have a dear friend who is a single mom. Despite the fact that she lives in one of the most expensive cities in this country, she manages to make a very nice life for herself and her daughter.  Recently she told me that she was buying a condo in Colombia.  When I asked her how in the world she had the money to do such a thing, her response was:  "Pues, Mija - I don't drink."

If you are a regular drinker and would like to engage in a truly depressing activity, get out a calculator and figure out how much money you spend on alcoholic beverages annually. Include drinks you purchase at the store, happy hours, bar hopping evenings, drinks you order when you go out to eat, etc. Then multiply that number by the number of years you have been a regular drinker. Finally, stare at your final number for ten seconds, and then take a look around to see what you've got to show for it.

Yup, there it goes

I can pretty much guarantee you will not find a condo in Colombia.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not saying don't drink. I'm just saying that drinking is not cheap like free. However, if you follow drinkers around and collect their empties, you can make a pretty penny at the bottle return center.