Thursday, September 11, 2008

Random Thoughts

1. On the bus, no matter who is wearing them, sunglasses judge you. They could be sitting on the face of a 93 year old gramma type, a coiffed emo kid, or that guy in acid washed denim cargo pants and a Brian Adams tee shirt. It doesn't matter.

The Ray Ban knock offs can see right through you. Stand and be counted.

2. I have insomnia. Struggling with sleep has been par for the course for most of my life. (And so has torturing those around me who seem to be content in their slumber. There is some quirk or social defect inside my brain that wants to disrupt them. "HOW CAN YOU HAVE PEACE?!" Growing up, most of my provocation was directed at my sister. A couple of times she was abruptly awakened to my drawing on her back with her big pink cherry lip gloss, or little -j-j- grabbing her then long hair like a mane, screaming "Heeyah!")

For the past few weeks I have been dabbling with Lunesta and the giant glowing moth it brings to sit on my chest. I also tried Ambien a couple of times.

The main difference I experienced between the two is that with Ambien, it is still conceivable to remain awake, sort of (Hence the possible driving, eating, gambling, sexing, doing stand-up, that may be a side effect of the drug.). With Lunesta, there is no question. You are going to sleep.

When I use Lunesta, I often wake up posed in the same position in which I, presumably, fell asleep. Passed out is more like it. The light is still on, the book I intended to read is still close to my hand. My pajama bottoms have one leg in, one leg out. I'm in the living room.

At least I got my eight hours, I suppose.

But I don't dig using sleeping pills. I never have. I feel groggy the next day, like my head is watter logged.

The sleep itself is strange, too, as if a large person is sitting on top of me while I slumber, holding my eyes closed. Or maybe that's the big green moth...I wonder if that's how they came up with the ad campaign. Focus groups marked the consistent observation that it felt as though something, or someone, was sitting on them as they slept. A Luna Moth must have been the least threatening option. No one wants a giant sandman looking fairy sitting on their chest while they try to get some shuteye.

3. How dangerous? Bangkok Dangerous.

4. Awesome thing my four-year-old nephew said this week:

"I want you to THINK about it, instead of randomly saying 'No.'" - in reference to his mother's refusal to let him watch a video.

AFTERTHOUGHT: I am sort of troubled by the fact that I didn't make any mention of September 11th - the DAY, The Anniversary - in my post.

I can't imagine it's a healthy thing to maintain a consistent level of grief or outrage over something that happened eight years ago. The molten lava of sadness or anger changes temperature over time, cooling and solidifying into a new landscape, until you barely notice it ever happened.

I suppose it's that way for a lot of things.

I remember a friend of mine, C., who said that for the first time that day, and in the following weeks, she felt a sense of hope for the country. Like she was a part of this Nation, rather than just living on its soil. She felt proud of our citizens and their efforts to help, and, though it was awful (particularly for those who lost someone in the crashes), we, without pointing fingers or shouting schoolyard insults, had managed to unify ourselves across party, color, and gender lines.

It's a shame that THAT's what it took.

She also mentioned her fear that this was just a result of all the dust that got kicked up, and soon we would revert to our old ways, and forget sharing our commonalities rather than blaring our differences.

Oh, well. Sorry, C. I don't think you need me to tell you that you were right.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to run off to the September 11th Fire Sale at JC Penny.

1 comment:

rebar said...

>>I am sort of troubled by the fact that I didn't make any mention of September 11th - the DAY, The Anniversary - in my post.

I did the same thing.
Just can't seem to write about it.

On the drive to work, listening to NPR they told a story of folks visiting the memorial site of Flight 93 and while there, a family member of one of the passengers was also there and spoke with them.

Even though nobody was crying or sounding distraught throughout the peice, I started cyring.

And I'm thinking to myself. MAN UP. If these folks aren't crying and can remain composed, freaking MAN UP and stop it!

I cried the rest of the drive to work.

Since I've been here, it's I think one person has sidelongways mentioned 9-11.


I'm sure I'll cry myself home tonight. And that's my memorial.

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