Fear and Loathing in Insomnia

Right now my cat is camped out on the ledge behind my laptop and my dog is laying on my feet. Both are looking at me with pleading eyes, begging for me to sleep. I agree that I should be sleeping but apparently the Universe has other plans. Also, every time I fall asleep right now I have crazy dreams. In normal people language, crazy dreams consist of something very odd happening while dreaming. In Harbour language that means you're running around a Old West town as a prostitute with your best friend, Indiana Jones and one of the Spice Girls. You're on a mission to save all literature. The mission depends on your ability to kiss as many people as you can without being shot by the sniper that is tracking you and aiming puppies with balloon-print collars in your direction.

No, I'm not even kidding.

And that was two nights ago. Last night was just too weird to even attempt to relate. Clearly I need more medication. And probably another seventeen years in therapy.

Many moons ago I promised Erin and Amber that I'd post pictures of my day out in Missoula. Normally they don't ask for pictures but, as we've clearly established here, I'm far from normal. One day a couple of weeks ago I was second-hand shopping. I discovered some curlers and thought to myself, "I'm now going to save energy by setting my hair in these every morning after my shower. How very green and retro of me!! Go me!" The next day I was anxiously waiting for a package that I knew would be delivered by noon and then I had to go *right* to the bank and onto some other errands. When I got out of the shower at 10:30 I thought to myself, "This is great! I have all day. I'm going to set my hair."

Yes, I really am that ADD.

By the time the package arrived and I realized that two of my worlds had collided, I thought, "Well, hell. I'm an hour and a half into this. I'm just going out like this."

Yes, friends. When you're single, jobless and socially backward you resort to curlers IN YOUR HAIR while you're in public. Let me be a warning to you.



And if you're really feeling amazing--you put scarves on to secure the buggers in place. And then you go to Wal-Mart and soon feel quite a bit better about yourself.



Can we just talk for a moment about how some day a prospective boyfriend is going to find this post and then send me an uncomfortable email? Don't worry. I'll just laugh. Exactly like I did all day walking around with those on my head.