Tag Archives: Sleep

Disaster preparedness.

I may not be prepared for a natural disaster, but God dang it am I prepared for the neighbors or housemates being loud.

I never have fewer than five boxes of earplugs. The United Kingdom makes it difficult for me to find earplugs that meet my standards, so I always stock up when I go back to the US and my mom sometimes sends me supplies as well. That picture isn’t including the box in my night stand.

If I don’t have earplugs I get anxiety. I can’t sleep. Thoughts fill my head like, “What if someone goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night and the flushing toilet wakes me and I can’t get to sleep for the rest of the night??”

When I have my earplugs in I sleep like a little baby. Probably an older one, because I hear babies don’t sleep for long stretches.

Oh, and don’t even get me started on those foam “earplugs.” Those are insult to the very idea of what an earplug should be. Mine are the kind you use to go swimming, that completely seal off your ear and you know, actually work.



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Kevin Bacon and one of his hairs

Last night I had a dream about a hair on Kevin Bacon’s head.

I know he’s been in a lot of movies, but I most likely haven’t seen 99 percent of them, and I’ve never had even two thoughts about him. He’s kind of a non-entity to me.

So why was he in my dream last night, asking me why someone I work with stalked him, collected a hair that fell off his head and then taped it to a stick to keep at our desk?

How do I answer I that? “I don’t know why my co-worker has one of your hairs on a stick.” It was really awkward, so I sent him in the direction of said co-worker.

Kevin Bacon: Look what I have. [holds up stick with his single hair attached]

Co-worker: Sh*t. That’s mine. Can I have it back?

Kevin Bacon: Well, not really. It’s actually mine. It’s my hair.

I remember standing there watching the conversation and thinking “this is really creepy,” but then I woke up. I never figured out why my not-so-freaky-in-real-life co-worker had this hairy stick and brought it to work.

Oh, did I mention that this conversation took place in Harry Potter’s castle after I’d been chased through it and almost killed? Harry Potter doesn’t even have his own castle, but in my dream he did.

A lot of times people say they don’t remember their dreams. I almost always remember mine because they are so WEIRD.


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Life in a sleeping bag is so much more than I ever dreamed it could be

There are a few things you need to know about my good friend Clay. He’s an avid Chicago Bears fan, he hates bats with a violent passion, and if a T-shirt doesn’t come out of a package he’s almost certainly not interested.

Most importantly, he’s not afraid to stand up for what he believes in, even if this means merciless ridicule by his closest of friends.

I highly recommend that you read his alternative lifestyles review on sleeping in a sleeping bag, because it will change your life. Well, that might be going a little far, but at the very least it will give you quite a few hearty chuckles.

[Unfairly Ridiculed Alternative Lifestyles Review] Sleeping in a Sleeping Bag

Here are a few choice excerpts from the review which I have made bold (bolded?), and my comments/responses are italicized.


For much of my life I have slept in a sleeping bag. Not simply on the rare occasions in which I would actually go camping, but on regular nights when I would sleep indoors. This was never something I did just for the sake of being weird as has been suggested, but because I genuinely believed it to be the most comfortable way to sleep. Believing in this school of thought firmly, I always assumed I would be able to convert my friends, or at the very least, not have them snicker at and mock me for how I chose to live my life.

Of course, I failed to take into consideration that most of the people I would consider to be “good” friends unfortunately are people who seemed to live so far up their own assholes it’s borderline stunning that oxygen was able to reach their lungs. It was enough to make me give up on spreading the word forever.

Somehow I think he’s talking about me or Robin. Or both.


Don’t be surprised if your “friends” start telling you that you’re “weird” or “stupid” and that until you learn to “nestle up against the warm bosom of sweet lady normality,” you’ll “never know the satisfaction of living the rich and full life that comes with being an unpaid intern at a satirical news publication who produces about one quality article out of five on even its hottest of streaks.” Seriously, who the fuck gets so situation-specific when delivering a life lesson!?

Almost certainly talking about Robin here, seeing as how she works at The Onion, but I could be wrong.

And even if you do get depressed by the new betrayal, what better to chase the sadness away than about 17 hours of sack time? It’s like thermally insulated Prozac.


Why is it that we live in a world where the creepy weirdos who own Snuggies get to have big Macarena parties while a guy who sleeps in a sleeping bag has an unflattering cartoon series depicting him as some sort of weird human/hot dog hybrid about him created by his co-workers? That is this man’s definition of unfair.

Yep, I’m the proud owner of the human/hotdog hybrid cartoon, and I feel it was a bit rude of Clay not to mention me specifically. What if other people want to hire my cartooning talents?

Also, I’m part of the Snuggie community and we are not creepy. We are warm, cozy and … happy.  Are you telling me this isn’t sexy:

I can honestly say it’s one of the best presents I’ve ever received.  My mom loves me.


While the realist in me acknowledges perhaps I should find better ways to excite myself than buying a new sleeping bag, the fact is this: I’m 26 and still sleeping in the same room as when I was born. At that point it’s not so much a bedroom as it is a chamber for me to eventually hang myself in.



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I Want a Sleep Switch

Life would be much improved by a switch we could flip or a button we could press on our bodies that would make us go to sleep instantly, although thinking about the actual mechanics of this really grosses me out.

Millions of years of evolution (or extremely faulty creationism) and this is what we get? Awake at night, day-dreaming [at night?] about a fantasy life filled with piles of good food and money, a life devoid of minor annoyances, like trying to put on a pair of pants and not having to thrash them around violently because they have somehow gotten tangled inside the leg and even your fist punching them can’t undo the tangle.

Sometimes I think about sleeping. I’m trying to sleep and I’m thinking about sleeping so my mind will remember how earlier in the day it didn’t want to wake up and got extremely angry at the 4 am alarm clock. This works better than counting sheep, which I’m not sure anyone actually does. When I think about sheep or when I try to count backwards from 100 I become restless and filled with boredom instead of ZZzZzzzZs.

What usually works best is pretending I am in outerspace, minus the exploding body. I just float around and try to imagine what it would feel like to have no weight pulling me down and making me tired.

The point is, I’m on a 5 am shift today and can’t stop thinking about how my life would be a whole lot better if I had been able to get to sleep at 8:30 last night like I planned, because I was exhausted but my mind wouldn’t be quiet.

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