I shouldn't drink. I don't smoke. So, what do I do to relax?
I take long, hot baths with a good book. Not good for the skin, but a harmless vice.
And I sleep. I don't like to get up on time, but again not a vice, not really.
But what do you do when even these home-spun remedies to the toils of daily life fail you?
Leaving the wine behind, I slip into a hot bath with Bridget Jones Diary. Aahhh.
Later, I slip between my luxury sheets and try to sleep. I can't sleep. I think of things. I think of boys. I think of toys. I thought wrong. OWWWWW! It stings. It burns. Run, run back to the bath. Damn! Cold water, cold water. Relief. I discover I'm allergic to lubricant. I discover I can't even lay myself. SAD. I go to bed and sleep.
Another day done.
Leaving the wine behind, I slip into a hot bath with Bridget Jones Diary, again. Aahhh.
Again, I sink between my luxury sheets and sleep.
I haven't hit REM yet, and the little mermaid starts singing. It's a txt msg. After a few of these, I'm wide awake. So, I decide to further parch my skin with another hot bath. Book in hand I return to the tub, hoping to get drowsy. Back in bed, I spend a good portion of the night batting away K.C. who wants to sleep in and chew my hair. Damn cat! Kafka is being an angel. That's unusual.
The alarm, my cell, starts going off, snooze, snooze, snooze. And I finally choke that bitch, Ariel, into silence. I heft myself out of bed. Owwww. All those hot baths haven't harmed my skin, they've turned me into a whiplash victim from poor posturing. I yawn. Owwww! Apparently, the night gnomes have returned for the 3rd time this week to curse both pillows, now. I think the curse works like this, every time I roll over onto my right side the pillow turns into a pile of rocks. At least, this is what I'm telling myself. Because I have no explanation for the tightness and soreness on the right side only of my jaw.
I'm late. I'm dressed. I'm ready. I can't find my medicine. It was right here. Or there. Well, it was somewhere. I turn myself into the human Swiffer, and I still never find my bottle of pills. I knew it was too good to be true that Kafka was an angel. I take the one pill from my pill box, change out the dust bunny pants, and head out. I arrive at work; spill coffee on my clean pants. It's going to be a great day!
So, here is my plea. Mr. Ant, if you are surfing the Web and come across this blog, please tell me - what do I do?
6 comments:
anon#1 I was thinking a trip to the Chocolate Bar might be in order.... is chocolate a vice? we're not supposed to eat too much of it so does that count? if it's decadent enough will it feel bad?
At this point I think I'll take anything that doesn't start or end in the tub.
I'm partial to ice cream. But chocolate is definitely a very close second vice of mine.
--Different Anonymous
i read your blog about the bubble bathing.....that is what i do every night.....sometimes i even take a snack in there! like chocolate, or a sandwich =) i need to get a hottub, i think my life would be complete if i had a hottub......i would sacrifice my living room for it.......OMG...tv and a hot bubble bath!!! -Stacy
Oh, I eat in there. Most recently I had salt and vinegar chips.
freakin sweet....i thought i was the only one......so i stopped talking about it.......s'like 2 things i enjoy all at one time.....
i learned about eating sandwiches in the tub from ernie.....i have a bunch of sesame street storybooks from when i was a kid, and ernie is going to take a bath and he puts so much stuff in there (toys....and the sandwich) he can't get in.........
- Stacy
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