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Oh my fucking gods.

Somehow, about 7:30 a.m., I wandered into the bedroom and managed to fall asleep, listening to Spooky sleep, listening the Rachel's Selenography. I'm not entirely sure what happened in the two and a half hours preceding that. I know that I seriously considered getting dressed, taking the camera, and wandering Federal Hill taking dawn photos. Of course, when the drugs finally did kick in (as they evidently did), I'd have fallen asleep beneath a tree or in a storm drain, and right now Spooky would have the Providence PD out looking for me.

Things I can do at dawn thirty, fucked up on meds, unable to sleep: print fliers, go into WoW and put stuff up in the auction house on the Exodar. I can also take photos, post them to the internet, and make two blog entries, and talk to the cats, and urinate, and twat about ceramic cephalopods. Wait. Maybe that last part was before I began trying to sleep.

I love you, Nathan Fillion.

Tip: While good intentions are noted, it's a bad idea to tell the insane, sleep-deprived lady whose been an insomniac since grade school all the various home remedies you know for getting to sleep. Trust me. If you've thought of it, so have I. If you've read it somewhere, so have I. I've tried it. A thousand times, along with a thousand other clever and ineffective things I thought up on my own. Yes, even that one. And that one, too. Thank you.

I think my present mental state might best be described as manic quasi-consciousness. Good thing I only have one thousand things I need to do today.

Correction to yesterday's ReaderCon schedule: My Sunday reading is not thirty minutes long; it's one hour long. Two to three p.m., Sunday afternoon.

Yesterday...we went to Warwick and saw Michael Mann's Public Enemies (fictionalized from a non-fiction book by Bryan Burrough) which was actually quite good. Depp and Bale were both excellent. Lovely cinematography. Great soundtrack and score. But, we meant to attend the 3:15 show. We even bought tickets for the 3:15 show. But when we went into that "auditorium," we discovered it was actually a closet with a tiny little screen, and none of the seats actually centered with the screen. Worse yet, it smelled like cat piss. Or an abandoned baby diaper. So, we went back to the ticket booth and told them we could not possibly enjoy Johnny Depp and Christian Bale shooting at each other with machine guns on that tiny screen in a room that stunk of cat piss. The nice woman seemed very understanding and exchanged our old tickets for new tickets to the 3:45 showing, in a huge auditorium with a huge screen and centered seats and no cat-piss smell. Yay. It only smelled like old popcorn. So, yeah, good movie.

Since I have been awake (almost an hour now), only one thing has not brought me acute pain. Simon & Garfunkel. Go figure.

I should do something responsible now, like post a link to The Red Tree, and remind you that unless the sales those first few weeks are really good, I'm moving to Kamchatka to live in a hollow stump. No kidding. These things happen all the goddamn time. You think writers just get tired of writing and go into some more fulfilling and profitable line of work, like the food-services industry. No. They go to Kamchatka. There's a Russian word for them, but I've forgotten it. Oh, and if I were responsible, I'd say please subscribe to Sirenia Digest, 'cause these days, it keeps a roof above mine and Spooky's head.

Which reminds me, I think Readercon 20 has totally missed the boat on programming. Don't get me wrong, these are all marvelous panels, the one's they've scehduled. At least, they would be, in an ideal world. Which this isn't. So, where's the important stuff that writers need to know? Like, "Why are we letting Google Books ass rape us and not even putting up a fight?" and "Friends don't help friends become freelancers," and "A writers guide to home dentistry"? Especially the Google Books thing, because, you know, fine, information might want to be fucking free, but until groceries want to be free, and electricity wants to be free, and water, and rent wants to be free, and health care wants to be free, and we all live in a happy green cyber-hippy utopia ruled by our benevolent King Moby, I need to get paid. It might not sound very artistic of me, but it's the goddamned truth.

Platypus: Caitlín?

Me: Yeah? What?

Platypus: You need to stop now.

Me: Oh. But....

Platypus: No buts. Go sit over there and suck your thumb. I'll erase the death threats against Google execs, and all that stuff about having sex with vacuum cleaners. Go. Now.

Platypus: Sorry guys. She gets like this. Move along. Nothing here to see.

Comments

( 21 comments — Have your say! )
(Deleted comment)
greygirlbeast
Jul. 8th, 2009 07:23 pm (UTC)

You're the cat's pajamas. And I'm sure Mr. Fillion would agree.

I hope so. Spooky and I want to marry him, and be his nerdy lesbian love slaves. Or, hey, I can live in sin. Wait, I already do that....
awdrey_gore
Jul. 8th, 2009 07:15 pm (UTC)
Ugh. I have developed what some call a "dependency" on Ambien and what I call and addiction and am detoxing (Ambien rules, misuse of it doesn't, and I have misused it.) Perusing web sites to get some ideas on how to deal with some of the issues weaning myself off the drug, I came across endless inspiration just to shout curse words over and over.

On sites devoted to Ambien withdrawal, we get:
-Have you ever tried drinking warm milk?
-How about turkey? Triptophan lol!
-Warm baths always put me to sleep!
-Lavender on your pillow is the way to go.
-Hai guyz, I substituted 30 mg of Ambien nightly with a teddy bear named Oswald. He's all I need to sleep!

Sleep hygiene wank, sleep reduction therapy, and all the usual suspects offered up as if no one ever thought of them before.

Oh my god! Warm milk? And I've just been blithely taking a potent hypnotic all these years? Gee, thanks for the suggestion, Mister. You saved the collective life of every insomniac.

I may be cranky from lack of sleep...

Hope you sleep soundly, soon.
greygirlbeast
Jul. 8th, 2009 07:21 pm (UTC)

This might be the coolest comment I have ever gotten. And I'm stealing the icon.

I know that if I try to stop taking Ambien my hypothalamus will explode.

-How about turkey? Triptophan lol!

Was this for real? I just want to know, because it has been scientifically proven that the triptophan in turkey does not make people sleepy, but that all the cultural myths about it act as a placebo.
awdrey_gore
Jul. 8th, 2009 07:47 pm (UTC)
Yay, coolest comment!

The turkey was for real. As in a sandwich. Recommended by a nurse, if I recall correctly, and sparked a subdiscussion wherein people debated the merits of sleeping well versus ingesting potentially unwanted calories right at bedtime.

That's sort of when I knew I was dealing with rank amateurs. Insomniacs of any duration and mettle would shove their own arms down their throats if there was a reputable double blind study that proved it caused sleepiness. If turkey worked, the sleepless would cause such a run on turkey that it might become an endangered species, not debating caloric intake.
greygirlbeast
Jul. 8th, 2009 07:49 pm (UTC)

Insomniacs of any duration and mettle would shove their own arms down their throats if there was a reputable double blind study that proved it caused sleepiness. If turkey worked, the sleepless would cause such a run on turkey that it might become an endangered species, not debating caloric intake.

If it would make me sleep, I would eat it raw and seething with bacteria.
coppervale
Jul. 8th, 2009 07:30 pm (UTC)
I have a RISK character who lives in Kamchatka: Gupchuk the Eskimo Woman.

Tell her I said hi.
greygirlbeast
Jul. 8th, 2009 07:32 pm (UTC)

Tell her I said hi.

You bet'cha.
k_t_r
Jul. 8th, 2009 07:44 pm (UTC)
One subscription to Sirenia Digest coming up, as soon as my bank tells me I have good numbers again. Which should be tomorrow.

Your Platypus sounds helpful. Where did you aquire her?
greygirlbeast
Jul. 8th, 2009 07:47 pm (UTC)

One subscription to Sirenia Digest coming up, as soon as my bank tells me I have good numbers again. Which should be tomorrow.

Thank you.

Your Platypus sounds helpful. Where did you aquire her?

The platypus just showed up one day. And we do not know hisherits gender. It has venomous spurs, and only males have venom in their spurs, but it also lays eggs, so we're thinking its a tranny platypus.
chris_walsh
Jul. 9th, 2009 12:36 am (UTC)
Now for some reason I'm hearing the platypus in the voice of Harlan.

WRONG IN MANY WAYS, CHRIS. There. I've saved you having to reply.

Even before reading Stephen King's Insomnia (inspired by a bout of insomnia in Portland! Yeah, sometimes I take my Portland boosting too far) I knew recommending insomnia cures is Bad Bidness.

Spooky and I want to marry him, and be his nerdy lesbian love slaves.

Wait: come to think of it, do love slaves ever get insomnia?

Feel better.
greygirlbeast
Jul. 9th, 2009 03:41 am (UTC)

Wait: come to think of it, do love slaves ever get insomnia?

No. Unlike writers, they are the honest sort of whore, and sleep the sleep of the just.
(Deleted comment)
greygirlbeast
Jul. 8th, 2009 08:37 pm (UTC)

*hug* THANK. YOU.

You're welcome.
opalblack
Jul. 8th, 2009 09:25 pm (UTC)
Trust me. If you've thought of it, so have I. If you've read it somewhere, so have I. I've tried it. A thousand times, along with a thousand other clever and ineffective things I thought up on my own. Yes, even that one. And that one, too. Thank you.

Oh gods yes. Too much advice when you're in anything less than a perfectly saintly mood gets so annoying so quickly. It also applies to "I was really sad/angry/whatever this one time and I did this thing and it cheered me up, you should try it!"

It's often a quiet war to not grab said well-intentioned bearer of said abortive enlightenment by something painful and point out PTS-fucking-D is not like that time you found out your coworker said something curt about your character and breeding at the office party and you were upset about it for days and days and days til you went out for satsuma ice-cream with six kittens in a pink bag on your head, you king-sized sack of moron-paste. In my mind I usually finish with something flamboyant, like shoving their face in a blender.

I propose Good Intention Roulette. First person to suggest (pick one: chamomile tea/meditation/valerian/other thing already tried) wins a... probably wins a bollocking, actually, though it could be a sarcastic tirade. I suppose the prize could be something nice, like a picture of an otter. It won't help either of us sleep, but it'll pass the time. I don't know about you, but I'm too exhausted to start a Fight Club.
greygirlbeast
Jul. 8th, 2009 09:33 pm (UTC)

PTS-fucking-D is not like that time you found out your coworker said something curt about your character and breeding at the office party and you were upset about it for days and days and days til you went out for satsuma ice-cream with six kittens in a pink bag on your head, you king-sized sack of moron-paste.

That's poetry.

I don't know about you, but I'm too exhausted to start a Fight Club.

But, gods, it would feel so good.
opalblack
Jul. 8th, 2009 09:57 pm (UTC)
That's poetry.

EE!

Thanks. I find I develop a certain vitriolic expressiveness in direct proportion to the number of hours since I last slept, multiplied by the number of well-meaning-yet-useless comments I'm subjected to.

There's a bonus powerup if anyone uses "god's plan," "karma" or "character building."

But, gods, it would feel so good.

Oh yes. Wouldn't it?
gargirl
Jul. 9th, 2009 03:06 am (UTC)
Oh dear. Sorry for the unsolicited advice, I can be bad about that, always had a tendency to "mother" people. Having had chronic headaches since the age of 8, I can understand that you have indeed heard and tried it all. I didn't realize it was such a long standing problem.
ardiril
Jul. 9th, 2009 03:25 am (UTC)

"A writers guide to home dentistry"

I once filed down a tooth that left a sharp point after it broke. I do not recommend that anyone sane try this procedure.
sfmarty
Jul. 9th, 2009 03:35 am (UTC)
I had dibs on Fillion before I saw him nude on Firefly. Sheer yummy.

Rest when you can. It is your brain, you know. Probably just keeps whirring about. Keeps a person awake.
(Deleted comment)
greygirlbeast
Jul. 9th, 2009 02:41 pm (UTC)

You know we love you, right? Even if you don't love us back?

Mostly, I don't know what I know.

I'm rather like a broken clockwork doll.
norilana
Jul. 9th, 2009 05:38 am (UTC)
Wow, you are EXACTLY like me in the insomnia category. Nothing helps. I've been like this since, well pretty much since birth, an infant who couldn't be rocked to sleep, and they even took me to the doctor then and it did not good...

These days about the only thing that can calm me down at 7:00 AM (my usual bedtime) is the sense of having COMPLETED A PROJECT or a stage of a project, for the day. If I feel I finished something, I can "allow" myself to sleep. And even this does not always work...

My heartfelt synmpathies and perfect understanding.
greygirlbeast
Jul. 9th, 2009 02:40 pm (UTC)

Wow, you are EXACTLY like me in the insomnia category. Nothing helps. I've been like this since, well pretty much since birth, an infant who couldn't be rocked to sleep, and they even took me to the doctor then and it did not good...

Mine began as an infant, as well. That was long ago, of course, and my grandmother did what grandmother's did and gave me paregoric, a camphorated tincture of opium, and that was my very first drug addiction, setting the stage for many more.
( 21 comments — Have your say! )