The Tale of Sleeping Ugly, and Notes from Jury Duty.

I need my ugly sleep.

I must have fallen asleep by 7:00pm on Wednesday night.  I had beelined for the couch and was lying down for just a moment, my brain and my body completely drained from the day.  I didn't expect this kind of exhaustion.  No movie talks about how the jury in a trial is absolutely spent after a day in court.

I proceeded to conk out in bed with the light on.  It could have been worse - Sleeping Ugly is what I'll call it - when you are so unbelievably tired that you fall asleep without brushing your teeth, flossing, washing your face, taking out your contact lenses, etc.  Those nightly rituals that, if you forget to do them, will leave you feeling (and looking) like Sleeping Ugly.  

This week has been so exhausting.  Maybe I'm tired because I'm depressed.  Maybe I'm depressed because I'm on jury duty...?

It's 1:00am and I'm awake and starved.  I whipped out some smoked salmon and proceeded to make california rolls, slicing up some cucumber and avocado.  I proceeded to watch the Food Network and found out the best techniques for making French toast.  (You're curious now, aren't you?)  And then, after a few hours, I went back to sleep.  I brushed my teeth this time.

Some notes about jury duty:
1. You are not allowed to discuss the case with anyone.
2.  There are some great (!) places to eat downtown.
3. Riding the metro all the heck the way down the red line is quite tiring.
4. One of my ears hurts.  I think maybe a spider bit me.  Hoping it's not a tick and lyme disease...
5. Jury duty leads to weird dreams and paranoia.
6. I hope I never get sued and that no one ever sues me.
7. I hope I am never a witness to a criminal act and then have to appear in court.
8. ***Genius Idea I keep forgetting to submit for the Jury Duty Suggestion Box: There should be FREE COFFEE and a HOT BREAKFAST provided for every day of jury duty service.***
9. I thought I'd stop clockwatching after I was done with college.
10.  Jury duty is like a lecture you can't get out of.  All day.  Monday through Friday.
11.  The biggest challenge about jury duty is staying awake.  And then, after that, paying attention.

In the backseat. Waking Up, Jury Duty, WOTW.

I'm sitting in the backseat of my mother's car once again.  I flashback to the numerous times I have sat here while I was growing up, staring at my mom's shoulder and the side of her head and perhaps her eyeline in the rearview mirror. Hours spent driving me to movies, kids birthday parties, road trips.  I blink back to my present adulthood.  I love being a passenger these days; such a rare occurrence.

Waking Up.
I woke up at 5:00am today.  I have often dreamt about waking up early - the possibilities at what I could accomplish: I could go running, make pancakes, do my QT, organize my room, stop by CVS, put gas in my car, pack a lunch, get some writing done...these are the things I think about.  I have not woken up this early in a very, very long time.  Well, catching a flight doesn't count.  I mean waking up early on a normal, non-traveling day.  (Is this what most twentysomethings think?  Or just the overachievers that hail from the East coast, I wonder?)

What I had forgotten, however, was the greatest battle in getting out of bed at such an early hour.  How warm and cozy and unbelievably comfortably my bed is...that, I had forgotten about.

I did not end up making any pancakes today.  Will have to save those chocolate chips for another day.


Jury Duty.
I was finally picked on for jury duty.  No, I know it's supposed to be at random (isn't it?), but I find that I always end up feeling like I'm being bullied when I receive that 'jury summons' letter.
Walking to the metro station and commuting for nearly an hour to the courthouse and then back home at the end of the day has left me wiped for the day.  Baby, what a long and tiresome day!
Note to self: add a note for the Suggestion Box that the court offer complimentary hot breakfast and strong coffee for jurors.  I know, I'm a genius....


WOTW
copacetic. adjective.  very satisfactory.  also spelled copasetic or copesetic.

In bed.

I am writing this while in bed.  No - not because I can't get out of bed, but it is simply the most comfortable spot I've found in my parents' house - in my bed in my old room.  This is where I have spent most of the little spare time I've had to work on my laptop.

I need to wake up in four hours to catch my flight back to LA.  It's hot out.  No - rather, it's hot in my room, which is upstairs, with windows facing the backyard and seldom getting the summer breezes.  I lie completely still.  I feel small beads of sweat forming on my forehead.  I turn out the lamp and sit in the darkness for a moment, closing my eyes, breathing more slowly.  It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop (on the carpet of my room).  It is dark outside - none of the other houses behind ours have a single visible light on.  In this space, and in the cul-de-sac adjacent to our street, life is at rest.

I can't remember the last time I even used the word cul-de-sac.

Life in LA seems far away, the freeway traffic and the overdue dry cleaning all but a distant memory.  My Blackberry vibrates and my temporary ignorance is shattered.

More to be added to this post...

Orange marmalade.

I'm sitting in my parents' house, in the bedroom which I slept in mainly during breaks between semesters at college.

The walls are an orange marmalade - painted after a semester abroad in Barcelona over Christmas break, the first one I had spent there since my family had moved.  The walls were previously a pastel pink, a color which I couldn't stand.  Being surrounded by four walls of pink felt smothering.  It reminded me of Pepto-Bismol - the thick, heavy slab of pink in the plastic bottle.  I elicited the help of my effervescent best friend and we got to work.

There are a few splotch marks where the paint had splashed, marring the white ceiling.  I never bothered fixing it - it is the botched brushstroke of an overzealous twenty-one year old.  I kind of like it.

I walk into the ensuite bathroom.  There are no towels in there, no soap.  I clearly don't spend much time in this room, this bathroom, this house.  Nor does anyone.  I don't live here anymore.  I'm a grown ass woman, a friend once said to me.

I love coffee.  These days, Dunkin' Donuts Original Blend is my brew of choice.  I pull open the pantry in the kitchen and I see two bags of coffee.  One is nearly empty, the other looks at least a year old.  I sigh.  Well, at least there are physical remnants of my presence that my family can recognize. 

You know, like excavating evidence of civilization.

The First Laugh.

I'm looking at the friend sitting across the table from me and thinking about the silly comment uttered.  I laugh out loud, a giggle that evolves into a full, hearty laughter, running away on its own.  I realize that this is the first time I've laughed all day.  She is unaware of how witty she can be.

Independence can be a form of a crutch, I realized the other day.  Just as much as dependence on another person can be a crutch.  Independence can mean that you're simply preventing disappointment caused by other people.  Ah, self-reliance.

As an adult, you don't hear encouraging statements or compliments in a direct and intentional manner such as when you're a kid.  In fact, compliments are never quite what they seem - especially not in LA.  They are loaded statements,  comments for buttering up, one-liners to schmooze and charm, likely veiling ulterior and purely selfish motives; thus, I have grown to become quite skeptical of them.  Some may take longer to materialize than others, but I think when you spend any given amount of time with a person, you will find out if they're being genuine or not.

Tomorrow promises to be another long day.

I guess it was a pretty long day.  Thank God for laughter.

Even My DVD Player is Tired.

This is the display on my DVD player.
It wasn't scrolling 'Cannot read DVD,' or 'Cannot play,' it just froze on: 'Cannot.'
Can't go on. Can't even fully say what exactly it cannot do, can only utter,'Cannot.'

Something must be going around.

Vanilla Berry Truffle Tea.
Some days, you just feel stuck. In a rut, in a routine, in your life, in your circles of friends. Stuck. In a room with no doors.

I look at the friendly face of the guy sitting across from me. It is my friend. He looks younger than his years, attractive, with a personality that is usually energetic, enthusiastic, upbeat. Today he seems a bit tired, forlorn. I wonder if he knows how much energy he is capable of bringing to a room - not everyone possesses the power to mobilize and motivate others.  He's in the biz too - he gets what I'm talking about, he knows the game, the hustle.

Shut it Down.
Adulthood has an incredible amount of ups and downs - childhood and adolescence was one roller coaster, but adulthood is quite another. Sometimes the madness leaves you wanting, at times, to put everything on 'Pause' while you take a break.

It happened recently. Too many people talking. Birds were chirping just a little too fervently. The music was playing too loud in every public place I entered. At one point I felt my ears ringing from - pressure? Stress? The constant popping from the pressure of hopping elevators in a high-rise building?

Perhaps it is time for a vacation in the boonies. Or Fiji. Or some city where there is no television and no cars. A beautiful beach, untouched by mass consumer culture.

While driving, I rolled up the windows because I couldn't stand the sound of the traffic whizzing by.  Lately the solace I find in the week is the morning run I take in the park on weekends.  I pound the dirt paths and the pavement, sweating, pushing through exhaustion, pain; it is through this run that I clear my head, undergo a piece of solitude paired with a cathartic experience of sorts that I cannot fully explain other than cite the support of endorphins.  This is what I have come to enjoy; this is what I look forward to all week; this is what gives me a mini escape from the demands from this world; from the chaos, the noise, the pandemonium.

Shut it down, everybody. Liz Lemon style.

Shut it down.

Where Have You Been?

"Where have you been?"

The voice of my friend lingers in the air as I listen in on my cell phone.

The question hangs on my brain for a moment, as I flash back to when I was a kid in high school, arriving home late and facing a cross look from my mother, awake and tired with her arms folded. She would be the one to have uttered the same words, verbatim. I'd imagine the words have escaped the mouths of all parents with teenagers. I recall having a sense of dread while coming home and facing an angry mother and father.

I live, gloriously, alone. I am enjoying this time of independence and singlehood while I can. I have no roommates, no one else to clean up after except for myself. I do fancy the idea of getting a dog - although not ready for that kind of responsibility - I have an affinity for the concept.

The aforementioned question speaks volumes - I immediately imagine the tone of the voice uttering the words, the irritation, etc. But - also it indicates that there is someone waiting up for me at home, someone who demands to know my whereabouts at returning home at such an ungodly hour. Someone who cares about where you were and what you were doing, who you were with. It's ridiculous, I realize; but I kind of miss that.

Who waits up for you?