Wednesday, February 13, 2008

tell me how to stop this

Well, it's not getting better.

4:43 a.m. and I've started a blog post. Haven't slept all night. I tried to. For about an hour and a half. That started around 2:20 a.m., when I closed my book and shut off the light.

The doctors said not to try and sleep until I'm sleepy. Is it possible to be exhausted beyond description, but not sleepy? Cuz that's how I feel.

The doctors also said that if I haven't fallen asleep within thirty minutes of trying, I should get up and do something none too stimulating until I feel sleepy again. There's that word again. How can I feel sleepy again? I'm still waiting for the first sleepy.

So I made blueberry pancakes. And watched t.v. And now the lights in the senior center across from my bedroom window are on.

Last Saturday, I walked into a local fitness center on a whim and asked a sweaty body builder behind the counter if they were looking for a front desk person? He said they were, but then asked how I felt about starting at 5:00 a.m. every morning? It took a second and a half to realize that I'd probably be up anyway. I said, "Actually, that's perfect."

On the nights when I get five or six hours of sleep, it's because I've swallowed two Benadryls and a Klonopin. And this just frightens me to no end. You're saying pills are my sole ticket to Slumberville? Only a five-hour tour, and I'm paying a potentially dangerous price for it.

Right around now is when the high-pitched fuzzy ring in my head begins. Let's see...I could read, put my clean laundry away, go to the bathroom, take out the trash, read more of my book, make some herbal tea. Anyway, that's the stuff I usually do. But with the snow trucks and snow blowers buzzing outside, and the fuzzy ring ringing inside, what chance does one poor little teabag have really?

Maybe I'll just blog. What in the world do I sound like at 4:56 a.m.?

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

i may have to blow town after publishing this one...

Part of what endears me to Boston is its underdog, not-a-prayer history. From politics to pro-ball, the underdog spirit is part of what makes this town what it is. This is why I’m secretly delighted that we lost the Super Bowl last Sunday.

I recognize that some may want to take me behind O’Malley’s and smack some sense into me for saying it, (or worse) but I really am happy about the upset. We had a chance to make football history, and we didn’t. I just love that. Maybe that makes me some kind of sicko. Or maybe I believe in keeping a little humility. There was something good that came out of The Curse. But after the 2004 World Series, something changed. And by the Red Sox win of '07, I realized I missed that feeling of being under that curse. We had become a broad-shouldered bully of a baseball team, with a ballooning budget, and big guns in the bullpen. The best and harshest way I can put it: we were starting to look like the Yankees. (Sorry if I dwell too long on baseball, that’s the sport I like best.)

And so we come to 2007-2008. Sox win the Series (again), we float through an entire frigid football season undefeated, the Celtics season starts, and they’re kicking major booty just like every one else around here. (I don’t follow hockey much, how are the Bruins doing?) Boston is overflowing with record-breaking stats and athletic power-house acclaim. It’s great, it’s why am I feeling mildly nauseated by it? I’ll tell you why...we ain’t got no more curse.

The curse kept us hungry. It challenged and gave us fight. It made us choose to believe or give up. It’s what made this town a tad shy of psychotic when it came to “fan appreciation.” Without it, we’re just another billionaire’s ball club with no heart, no soul. Losing is what makes us great. Big losses are what make Boston, Boston. I guess it was nice to see some hint of that again this past weekend.

Of course it was a colossal blow; we all felt it in the air on Monday. We haven’t stopped the post-mortem lament, the analyzing, like what you do with your gaggle of girlfriends after a bad breakup. We probably won’t shut up about it for another week or so, and there will be those who may never recover from it. Good, I say. It’s all good. I’m hearing the hunger pangs already.

You know, you really shouldn't listen to a single thing I say. I didn't watch one solitary minute of Sunday's game. In fact, I didn't sit down for five minutes for any football game of any sort in any part of the nation at any time. I just like to write stuff.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]