Before I get started, I just wanted to reassure my whole and fractional Sims enthusiasts that I am indeed working on an update.
So let's begin where the sleeping didn't. Last night I got into one of those arguments you've had so many times, you start to think you're actually watching a rerun of Bullshit's Greatest Hits, when it actually does hit you that there's a new element to the same old argument that's been blooming below the surface so long, you can't believe it hasn't started writing its own blog that almost no one reads. Without going too far off into a detail ditch regarding the aforementioned torture method, suffice it to say that it presented my brain with a problem so convoluted, so unsolvable, so
circuitous that I was powerless to stop the continuous loop of failed attempts to de-problemate.
I tossed around for a few hours, took a hopeful dose of Benadryl and after awhile started to finally drift off
just before some lazy fuck decided to loudly honk their horn right outside of my bedroom window, rather than waste one of their precious minutes hauling their fat ass out of their car to knock on a door, or
God forbid, lift a finger to push a button on their phone to alert their passenger of their presence - an act which probably would have required less pressure than laying on their horn. But why be logical or considerate of others before 10am on a Sunday morning, when you can behave like an entitled buttface. It's your world, you just allow me to live in it.
Once the adrenaline shock from that interruption wore off, it was time for our upstairs neighbors to start their day - which, for reasons I'll never understand, seems to involve master bedroom races. Today's festivities also included something rattling at irregular - yet never ending - intervals against their bathroom floor. All events that are ultimately not blocked out by the application of earplugs and a white noise machine.
I gave up on sleep, hard. The rest of my family eventually got up, and not soon after, wakefulness gave up on me. I zombie shuffled back to bed and did my best to ignore the continuing 2nd floor Olympics while my husband took the kids to the park. Once they all returned, I was forced to give up on sleep once again due to the blood curdling tones of an epic, hour-long meltdown.
Nothing left to do at that point but sit on the couch with my face in my hands praying either for death, or for a cheeseburger so delicious it would almost be impossible to believe it ever
really existed to materialize in my hands. Neither came. I did, however, manage to miraculously short circuit the toddler meltdown by using my primitive brain to suggest, "Give snack, even if he screams like he doesn't want snack." and then later offering him a plastic cup and a magazine. Which really seems like a solution to a completely different problem, but when you're desperate, you go with whatever works.
Again, I attempted sleep. I managed to wrestle a full 30 minutes from those asshole gods of sleep, where I had a quick dream in which an old male high school classmate of mine sat down near me in a restaurant, and said, apropos of nothing, "I only write comic books to pick up chicks." before shooting me a shit-eating grin. Next, the server collected my plate of potatoes before I was done, right before a stranger stuck his finger in my mouth.
I woke, noted the time, pin-balled myself against a few walls and pieces of furniture to use the toilet, and stumbled to the livingroom couch where I sat with an empty expression - quite expertly, I might add - until my husband returned from the wild with a hard-won Sonic crispy chicken salad for me. They'd forgotten the dressing, made him wait 15 minutes for his food, and tried to keep a $7 tip on a $13 bill (and in the end, still shorted him $1 in change) so I'm not entirely certain the building still exists. He did say we'd never be eating there again.
So how was
your Sunday?
