Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Sleeping Habits

I recently read a blog post by a friend which was basically about how he sleeps and the state of his bed. It's kind of inspired me to discuss this topic further as a lot of the time people tell me my sleeping habits are "not normal." 

So let's begin with simply stating "this is how I sleep". I need white noise to fall asleep, or I stay up too long thinking and thinking some more, so I sleep with my fan on. This serves two purposes as it creates white noise and also creates a cold atmosphere. I love the cold and cannot sleep when it's too hot, so my fan is pretty key in me getting a good nights rest. I also sleep with one pillow between my knees and my teddy bear all entrapped in my grasp. In the summer I will sleep with the window open and only a sheet on, as I am incapable of falling asleep if I don't feel some sort of material weight on my body. In the winter I sleep with a 5 or 6 year old quilt on. When it's really cold, I toss on a second quilt as the first has pretty much lost most of the stuffing that makes quilts warm. If you're wondering why, when it's cold, I just don't simply turn off the fan then you're not paying attention. 


I have never been someone who makes their bed. Ever. The only exception is when it's not MY bed. When staying at my Grandmothers house, the bed I sleep in get's made in the morning because it's not MY bed. When I lived with my father and stepmother the fact that I never made my bed was one of many issues between my step mother and I. She was the type of woman who was very concerned about appearances. "We're having guests over for dinner, go make your bed!" It never made sense to me. My room has always been a fairly private place to me as, until recently, it's been the only room in an entire house that was ever mine. It used to drive me nuts that when I wouldn't make my bed she would come in and do it for me. It even got to the point that if I didn't "straighten up" my desk, she would come in and do that too. Seriously. I never really saw her do it, but the evidence was enough. When I gave in for a little while, in hopes that she would stay out of my room, she would still come into it. It drove me nuts. I knew she had been in my room because she would always close my closet door, because apparently closet doors are not allowed to be left open. I am a very paranoid person, I have never been able to be in my room with the closet door closed. I always open it. Currently, my bedroom has two closets and neither of them have doors. It has seriously solved my problem.


So that's another part to me sleeping well, the closet needs to be open and the bedroom door closed. There are only 2 places I seem to be able to fall asleep without these rules being followed, one is my friend Clever's house and the other is my friend Ricki's house. I don't know why, but they are just two places I feel really safe. There is a 3rd place that I feel really safe, but the last time I slept there the closet had no doors anyways, so my rules were accidentally followed. 


As scandalous as it's probably going to seem, I'm going to talk about sleeping with someone else now. I don't sleep well with someone else in my bed, and I sleep even less well when in someone else's bed. This doesn't even have to be a scandalous or sexual thing, even spending the night sleeping next to a platonic friend is rough on my sleeping habits. My son seems to be the only person I can sleep beside without it affecting me. I flop about a lot in my sleep, except when Merric is laying in my bed next to me. I wake up frequently when someone else is in my bed because I feel like I'm not at ease, I can't be comfortable and relaxed. Even when sleeping I worry that I'll roll over and smack them with my arm or something. 


Camping is even worse. Sharing a tent with more than one person, I absolutely hate it. I love camping though. I used to have to share a tent with my brother, and I think that was the only time I've ever been able to share a tent with someone. Boys are gross, and my brother is no exception. They fart and burp and scratch themselves in their sleep, and since it was my brother I didn't feel obligated to hold in my burps, farts, or scratching needs. Because, let's face it, girls are gross too. 


So anyways, I think that covers most of everything. I intentionally left out in what state of clothing I sleep in, because I think that's more a private thing. Whether I sleep nude, in flannel pajama;s, or in a space suit, it's not really anyone's business. 

Bad Dreams/Nightmares

So last night I had a really terrifying, vivid and gory dream. Or maybe it was bad enough to be classified as a nightmare. I'm not really sure what the differences are, but I woke up from it shaking and started to cry. It was really rough. It was one of those dreams that seems so real that when you wake up and realize it was just a dream you're so relieved you just want to throw up. It's left me feeling very disturbed that my subconscious mind could come up with something like that. 


I don't want to go into many details, but it was so bad that I watched a very beloved friend be tortured with an ax. It was haunting. I still can't get the mental image out of my head. His screams were so real, his anguish and pain.. the blood. It was horrible. 


I have friends that believe dreams are trying to tell you something, that they're prophetic. I can't even begin to comprehend what that dream may have been trying to say. It was just so terrible. I've spent the entirety of my day trying to forget it, but it's still fresh in my mind. I kind of don't want to go to sleep tonight because of it. 


Please tell me I'm not the only who has disturbingly vivid and horrific dreams? I don't like feeling like I'm a sick freak for having had this dream. 

Thursday, December 2, 2010

I've Been Searching

Finally I have found my soul mate! I am desperately and completely and hopelessly in love! Eggnog triple thick milk shake from McDonalds, you complete me! <3


Anyone who knows me well enough, should know of my complete and total addiction to Eggnog. If given the choice, I would live off cartons of the stuff all season. Sadly, that's terribly unhealthy. At least thats what people tell me. I prefer to believe they are just trying to get more Eggnog for themselves. 


After a quick doctors visit, my son, mother and I went to McDonalds. Merric had earned it. He was really brave during the doctors visit. While in line I discovered a sign, the most wondrous sign. A sign that made me wish I had my camera with me to capture the moment better. It declared to me that I could purchase (you must imagine my voice saying that as "purr" and "chase", it makes it sound better) a Triple Thick Milkshake flavoured of Eggnog. 


I am sipping at it right now and I am in a thick creamy heaven. Stop being a pervert. It's delicious. 

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Pet Peeves (Part 1)

I hate being made to wait. 


But not the average "you have to wait to see the doctor", or "you have to wait ___ many days for [a special occasion]". I hate being told "maybe I'll come see you later". Then all night there is no word as to whether or not they are on their way. "I'll let you know before I head out if I'm going to come over or not" and then nothing all night. Nothing. No word or anything. 


I hate it. 


I wait until it's absolutely ridiculously late and then go to bed more than pissed off. And when I wake up? All I want to do is yell at them. Especially when they know how much I hate being made to wait. Then I feel bad for being so angry because "maybe they got hurt or in an accident". But then they pop online and all that rage comes back and all I want to do is rip them a new one. 


But it never works. The trend continues and they constantly treat me like not even second string, but third string. The bench warmer. "If I've got nothing better to do, maybe I'll come see you." 


You know what? Don't even bother.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Text Based Fun


So it's time to take a break from being serious or advertising my brother. I'd like to take some time to talk about the joys of my life.


Recently my brother started posting a blog. Like I mentioned then, he is the funniest person I know. Makes me laugh like nobody else to ever exist ever. Ever. He is the only person in the known universe that can make me laugh by pointing out a flaw or insecurity of mine.The only. I have had boyfriends in the past notice this about my relationship with my brother and attempt to replicate it. This, of course, ends in a premature termination of our relationship because I don't take that crap from no one. Except my brother. But he does it with nothing but love and humour, and I know he does it with love but when someone else does it it stings. 


Anyways, we've been being ridiculous in his comments section in the style of a text based adventure game. It made me realize that more than anything I go through cycles of loving these types of games. I find them to be the best thing ever and then eventually forget about them and lose interest. It's possibly because I don't have much experience with good genuine text based adventure games. My experience is literally limited to the 3 you can find in the games section of the website HomestarRunner.com. They are as follows;

Dungeon Man which is quite literally over before you even get into it. 
Peasant Quest which is a combination text and graphic game.
Dungeon Man 3 which completely discards the reality that you should have a 2nd to a game before a 3rd. 


I'm very interested in finding other actual text based games, but really wouldn't know where to start. Can anyone help me with this?

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

I should have a big purple hat

And on that hat there should be a big lime green feather. This hat should also have a big matching fur jacket. And I should start carrying a cane! Why? Because I'm a mothering flipping pimp, people. Let the pimping begin!

Not to offend anyone, but my brother is the most hilarious person I know. He finally has decided that he's ready to start posting a blog. This link is your gateway to the awesome that is that blog.

You should be all about clicking that link. Right now! If you haven't yet, I hate your face. Has that persuaded you to click the link? No? Well it should have!

Dreams

I've been having a lot of dreams involving my old dog, Shmeg. They are so realistic that I don't want to wake up, but when I do I get depressed because I remember.


Just a note, that this blog post is probably going to get fairly emotional fairly quickly.


Shmeg was a dog we got when I was about 7. At the time we already had a cat, that was brought into the house when I was about 1. 
She was not happy with us and showed us by peeing on my moms down duvet.
Shmeg quickly became my best friend. When my parents marriage started to fall apart, he would come find me as soon as the yelling started. He would snuggle with me until it ended, and sometimes even a little after. Our house was a strict "no dogs on the furniture" house, but when my parents weren't around I would bring Shmeg up on the couch, or on my bed, with me to cuddle. 
We spent a lot of time snuggled up on my bed, especially when I was sick.
Anyone who hasn't ever had a close relationship with an animal can't understand how much I miss him. There will never be a dog to replace Shmeg, and I don't ever want there to be. He had this look to him where it made him look like he was smiling all the time. It made me happy.




And even when he wasn't "smiling", he was looking deep and contemplative. Like there was some deep meaningful thoughts on his mind. I try to focus more on the time we spent cuddled up on my bed, or the couch, usually watching t.v or movies when I wasn't feeling well. He went for runs with me and was the first animal to ever respond so obediently to me. Later we would get another dog, and you would really have to be forceful with your voice to get his attention, but Shmeg listened. Shmeg always listened to me. The way Shmeg died seemed fitting, what with all the time we spent curled up together when I wasn't feeling well. But I'm getting ahead of myself.


Our cat started to go crazy, literally developing dementia. She stopped cleaning herself, wouldn't let us near her to brush her, and was literally the kind of cat that would rather rip open your throat than let you bath her, or shave her. When she was at the tipe old age of about 15 we had to put her down. She had finally hit the point where she didn't know what anything was, not even her food. This was the first time we'd ever raised two animals together and were very unaware that when you put one down, you need to bring the other along. So that it can sniff the body and know that it's dead. Otherwise you end up with an animal with abandonment issues. 


Until we put P.C (our cat) down, Shmeg had loved other cat's. He always wanted to play with them, like he'd play with P.C. After we put P.C down is when we discovered that the animal left alive will develop emotional issues. For months it was a fight to get Shmeg to eat, or do anything. He would lay about lazily, depressed. He also started snapping at other cats. He would see one and go absolutely ape-shit. He wanted nothing more than to rip them apart, luckily we were the type of pet owners that only let the dog's off leash in safe area's, like off leash parks. 


My mom bought Shmeg a puppy, thinking it would help him with his depression. Well, that was her excuse. The truth is, since I was born she's wanted another Wolf-dog. She finally had a reason to buy one. 


Shmeg was about 9 years old when he started to develop health issues. The vet we were at at the time told us it was typical hip dysplasia that almost all German Shepards develop with old age. They were not the best vet office, and after other issues with them we sought out a new vet. The new vet informed us that we had been treating the wrong issue. He could tell just by watching Shmeg walk that he didn't have hip dysplasia, his spine was fusing together. I still cannot explain the anger and rage I feel towards our old vet. They wasted time we could have been spending treating the real problem. Instead, by the time we got him to the new vet and were told the real problem, it was too late. He had already lost a lot of muscle mass in his hind legs, and there was no fixing him.


He lived a couple months longer on pain killers, until he literally couldn't get up anymore. Once he started soiling his bed, we knew it was time. He was no longer living a good or happy life, he was suffering. My mother had taken P.C to be put down and was more than adamant that she couldn't do it again. Choking back tears, I told her I wanted to be the one with Shmeg anyways. He was my best friend. Like I said, at this point he couldn't stand up by himself. I had to pick him up and carry him to the car, then from the car to the vet's office. He was about 90 lbs and the heaviest thing I'd ever carried that long, but I didn't want to ever put him down, literally.


I will always remember sitting on the cold floor of the vet's office as they tried to sedate him 3 times before it took. Once it took, he laid there lazily, his head on my lap, looking up at me with that smile of his. He finally let the sedative take him, and he laid there peacefully on my lap, shallowly breathing. The vet came once more and it was finished. My best friend was gone. I sat there with him on my lap, on the cold floor. I didn't want to leave. The nurse came in, I could barely breathe I was crying so hard. But I had to let him go. They needed the room, and my son was starting to make a major fuss in the waiting room with my mother. 




I didn't want to leave him, much like my Uncle Ian only a few years before. I just didn't want to leave. Leaving made it real. The dream's I've been having lately have all been happy. We're snuggling and running and spending time with each other like we did when he was still alive. But I always wake up, look for him in a daze, and then realize he's gone and remember the feeling of his lifeless body in my arms.