I'll tell you, that complete lack of sleep last weekend set me up for one hellacious week I've just barely survived. In case you don't recall, I spent last Saturday sleeping the sleep of the (almost) dead, but ended up sleeping nary another wink until (very late) Sunday, and it's been a looooong, sloooow, downhill slide into sleep deprivation since.
I can hardly see straight and have been ... all week ... yawning the big, hearing-impairing yawns that result in eyes squinched shut tight, squeezing tears out between the lids anyway; mouth gaping wide open, unable to close, making horrendous Ben-from-Grizzly-Adams noises; head shaking to snap out of it; flubbering like a horse. I just did it three times while typing that line!
Anyway, got the car washed on the way home from work this afternoon and the brakes decided to play the old "we're really slick!" game with me. Normally not a problem, but have I mentioned I'm flippin' tired? Well, I am. That was a fun few moments, not. Thought I was gonna RAM the guy in front of me before I came to a stop. So then I looked like a driving novice as I revved/braked for the next 100 feet or so to dry out the brakes.
Got home, and neighbors have gotten together for a multi-household garage sale (what they call yard sales out here). They have an old Army jeep I am desperately in love with, but want $3k for (no way!) ... but I covet it, yes I do, sitting out there in front of the house on it's own little flatbed trailer. Calling to me. Dadnappit.
Earlier this week I got a huge check from Allstate, which led me to believe someone over there completely fucked up my homeowners insurance changes. Called the mortgage company and, yes, they did. Glad I was suspicious and didn't just cash the check. Have to send it in to Chase to apply to my escrow account. Fastest big check I've never spent in my life. Mer.
And I had my quarterly check-up Monday, the one with a physical and bloodwork to check that all's well in Lisa Land. (Expletive deleted) new tech looks up at me and flatly states, "I'm closed."
To which I replied, "No, you really aren't." Don't know what she was expecting, but I had just spent the last 5 minutes listening to her bitch to the patient before me about her hours, and I was in no mood.
So she then tells me, "But I'll take care of you, I won't make you come in again." To which I thought-replied, "You bet your sweet ass you will." Thought-replied because I may be surly when I'm tired, but I'm no fool.
Well, anyway ... usually the way this works is I get a call the next day telling me everything's fine and to continue on with my Bastard Ray regimen. This time, for the second time in a row, I get the message to call the doctor's office. Shit! This was old last time! Doan wanna do it agin. Grumble, grumble, mer, mer, whine.
I call the doctor's office (you may recall last time it was not scary bad news, just a change in plans), and they tell me (expletive deleted) tech screwed up my tests and I have to go back in to do it again after all.
First thought? Bitch did that on purpose. Second thought? Hope she got fired! Third thought? No I don't, that's just plain mean.
So tonight I'm catching up on recorded stuff I haven't watched yet:
Saw a great documentary called "A Man Named Pearl" about Mr. Pearl Fryar of Bishopville, SC, and his fantasmagorically awesome topiary garden, and am still a bit speechless in my awe of the man. Please rent this or Netflix it or whatever. Mr. Fryar is a truly imressive man, although he'd prolly think that description as off the mark. Wow. Just watch it, or Google him. I can't do him justice, but I want to shake his hand.
Then, I watched a bit of fluff called "Maneater" - worth it just for Gregory Harrison's heartwrenching funeral speech at the end, which had me in tears and introduced me to my new favorite Ray LaMontagne song (how did I not know about this one?): "A Falling Through". Of course, I have to qualify that with the assertion that I am sleep-deprived, people; which is when I turn into a big ball of waaah for anything even remotely happy, or sad, or haunting, or beautiful, etc.
Then I caught the latest of "The Unusuals" and it only confirmed I have every reason to be heartily pissed this gem with an effing lame name has been cancelled. What a terrific cast! What an aggravation they've gone and canceled it!
Aaaaand I finally got my act together and left a key to the back yard dog run for the lawn guys, who came in and beautified it yesterday (well, technically day before yesterday now). The dog-poo guys came by today (technically yesterday) and apparently are so happy my own little topiary-from-hell experiment is over that they felt the need to actually leave a note that said, among other things, "Thumbs up on the back yard!" Now maybe my neighbors will actually speak to me instead of looking daggers at me every chance they get.
I'm quite chuffed ... it was perfect timing for the big yard sales the other neighbors have going on ... I don't have even a smidgen of guilt that my yard is stinking up their works. Yay!