Vlog 7: Spring!

I realize Spring doesn't officially start for another 12 hours, but when I realized it had been six weeks since the last vlog and all I had to talk about were incredibly sad things I didn't think would fit into a HEY IT'S SPRING! vlog, vlog 7 became a chronicle of what I love to do. Not much talk. Just buzzing around the backyard.

With that, I'm turning the vlogs into a seasonal thing. Because there are way better vlogs out there to watch. Like Imogen Heap's notes on her new studio and album, for instance.

Vlog 7: Spring!

The Notorious Potato Gang.

To protest the recent bad idea to can totally free accounts on LiveJournal, almost everyone I know is on strike from midnight to midnight (GMT) this Friday, which is like, now. So I don't get to post anything to mine until 8PM tomorrow. Which is just about what I do, except today I wanted to tell the story of how someone left their potatoes in the parking lot at Met, and I went back in--lost bag in hand--and wheezed, "Dolores, someone left their potatoes in the parking lot."

I assume it was interesting for people around. I'd like to think it was. I'd also like to hope that it wasn't a potato bomb, because my prints are all over that bag now.

After being blown by the glorious spring winds--happy spring, peeps!

This is what my life is like, I'm thinking, "I hope I didn't blow up the supermarket," and BANG, LOLpeeps just appear like that car that ran the red light. The next thing I know, the Chinese are skating to a song I used to play 20 years ago, and all the high-pitched music and spinning on the bright white ice is joining forces with that cup of hot dairy-infused sugar I knew I shouldn't have drank the first time three months ago, much less tonight--but we're celebrating Mum's ability to lift things again! And I completely forget what I was going to say.

After being blown home by the March winds (happy birthday Aunt Janet!), I sat in the relative quiet of my room putting together my papercraft Ceiling Cat, which I found on Tubbypaws, a blog of happy art. Tubbypaws is one of those sites I read in its entirety in one sitting because it did make me happier and happier, until I was weeping with happy at the sight of papercraft Grand Theft Auto: Vice City and Silent Hill 2.

I'll end my post with Tubbypaws, because I would be sad if I kept you from the fabulous happy of that blog.

The Notorious Potato Gang.

I am not a slave to fashion.

It's spring. The equinox may have occurred over a month ago, but the days surrounding Beltane (no...I didn't participate...I played with the cats and dog) brought with it the nice warm weather that signals the usual swarming termites and swooping bats, and also the pollen.

I'm not sure if the bees around here have all died from the cell phone waves created by all those people who walk by my house talking to themselves, or maybe the bat ate them, but there seems to be a lot of pollen this year. So much pollen, that my lip swelled up yesterday. I swear, it was like those special lipsticks that are supposed to make you look all trendy and hot, but--I assume--feel like you've just eaten every fruit and piece of sea life that gives you the deathly hives.

I did not look trendy and hot with my allergic lips, my squinting runny eyes probably couldn't pass for cutesy batting, and the words I was saying would have ruled out being attractive to anyone at all for a few hours yesterday. And today. And most likely tomorrow. Until October.

As a follow-up to my post about Benadryl, it turns out that eventually it does build up. I'm sort of...what's the word...drugged? HAHAHA Whee! I still only sleep two hours, but now I have dreams about strange men with bad breath chasing me, and spiders. I guess it would be asking too much to just have dreams that are different from being awake.

I am not a slave to fashion.

Three is Twice as Ineffective as One.

I feel like I'm repeating myself when I say I don't sleep. I've blogged about it before, in many places, and there really is nothing to be found in blogging about sleep problems other than a record that the sleep problem did in fact occur, and it was such a slow news day that it seemed an interesting topic at the time.

I can't honestly call it a slow news day, I know, there's a lot going on in the world. But I don't care about that, because I don't sleep.

People who helpfully offer quick fixes for my insomnia do not have my kind of industrial-strength ability to just not sleep for months at a time, so telling me to go for a walk will result in me asking if insomnia means that one night where the garbage collection was too noisy, and depending on how long it's been since I slept, I may throw in a few words that aren't cleared for public broadcasting. Because I understand I could end up in prison, I will not use violence. Still, I'm just gonna stop you here and say it won't help. Whatever it is, I've done it, it won't help.

Benadryl, the current antihistamine of the world, contains the same ingredient as mild sleeping pills. People take Benadryl when they can't sleep, or give it to their children for the same reason. Last night I took a lot of Benadryl. I laid there in sleep stage 1 for two hours, and then I noticed I was itchy.

Those two hours were not enough, Benadryl alone is not enough to bring peace. The experiment was a failure.

Next week: Testing the air-speed velocity of an unladen rake, when used in bee-herding.

Three is Twice as Ineffective as One.