Less Than Coherent...

I have this love-hate thing with insomnia. I love it because, often, some of my best writing comes as a result of it. Also, it's kinda cool to know that my brain just keeps going and going like a bit of marketing from a famous battery company a few years back. But I hate it because, well, it means I'm not sleeping.

I can't say as I really have a sleeping pattern. I'm assuming this is not a good thing. A few weeks ago I slept 4 hours per night each night of the weekend. I felt fine. Then, Sunday evening, it hit me.

I've been traveling a lot today, and, as a result, have found myself napping on airplanes.

By the time my good friend picked me up at the airport late this evening, I felt somewhat intoxicated. I'm not even sure what I said to him. It's been just slightly over an hour since we had this conversation, and I can't recall most of it.

God only knows what I might have said to him.

Anyway, I think I was even dreaming on the plane. I know I was dreaming when I was napping at the airport. Funny thing is, I was only sleeping for short bursts--maybe five minutes at a time, if even that. Now that I'm home and in a nice, comfortable bed (rather than sitting bolt upright in a cramped economy-class airplane seat), I suddenly find myself sleepless. And the darnedest thing is, I'm extremely tired. And sleepy. And yet I can't sleep.

Well, maybe writing about it has helped. Who knows. All I know is that I'm going to need to do my best to get some rest with what is left of this night, because later today, I'm going to have to get back to work.

You know, glancing back over this thing, I think it's the most coherent thing I've ever written. On here, anyway.

Happy 100th Birthday to My Grandfather

Okay, first and foremost, my grandpa died when I was 10. So he's not still alive. But if he were, today would be his 100th birthday, God rest his soul.

Anyway, he kind of started getting dementia when I was a very young child, so unfortunately, I don't have many memories of my grandfather. One that does stick out in my mind, however, is the time he walked me across the street to the grocery store. Whenever he let go of my hand, I remember that my hand smelled like gasoline and motor oil and GoJo cleaning cream. My grandpa was a mechanic, so his hands perpetually smelled like mechanic work.

I really don't have many other memories, except for the times he was living in a nursing home. A few other moments that I can recall are the time he "told on me" for eating margarine straight from the tub, and the times he claimed that I wanted to go eat pizza when he really did. Okay, let's be honest. I did too. Miss you Grandpa!

And Just When You Think It's Safe to Go to Sleep...

Dear Brain,

Please tell me, in a three-page, double-spaced, Times New Roman size 12 font, formal essay, just exactly why you decided to give me a dream in which I am the only person in a town that looks strangely like one of the many towns somewhere along the Rio Grande, who is able to save Llewelyn Moss from Anton Chigurh while the neighbors slept peacefully and I managed to get pretty bloodied up and Llewelyn had to be sent to the hospital in three boxes to sew him back together, and then President Obama came by to open up a bottle of Ozark water and clean my face with it.

Thanks. That will be due Monday at 8 sharp.

Sincerely,
Sunshine Jones

Updating for the Sake of Updating

Wow. I just realized that I haven't updated since Valentine's Day. And I'm not even all that sure why I updated then. I'm insanely tired. I had a conference last weekend (which was very awesome, I might add) and then I had an interview at the same job I have for fall semester this afternoon. And I still have essays to grade and hopefully return tomorrow. I feel sorry for those students since I had to cancel class last week, but I suppose it will be okay. I just need a nap. Then, maybe during my office hour I'll finish up any excess grading I may have. I think I can pull this off.