Naps and a Bagel (or 3)

Last night, I think most of the world tuned in to watch the clusterfuck that was the first Presidential debate between Hillary and Trump.  I could write something pretty scathing in description of Trump and his idiocy, but I shall refrain…for now.  Suffice it to say that this, in my humble opinion, was no contest and no surprise at all as to who would trounce whom.  I’ll leave this topic alone after saying that I do not care how dishonest Hillary has been, I still refuse to vote for the orange-faced buffoon, period.  Don’t bother to argue with me on this point, I have other reasons I support her as well but again, I don’t need to justify my decision and nothing on earth will convince me to throw away this particular vote, that to in a swing state, just to make a point that neither are good choices and I wish there was someone else (who I would legitimately want to vote for because the other two options?  Just no).  And as I explained to someone recently, I wish I was thinner and richer right at this moment but that’s not the case so I have to deal with reality as it is for me right now.

Because the debate wasn’t enough, I stayed up till 5am watching the pundits and “experts” expound and dissect the hell out of the 90 minutes till I finally decided, or rather my body demanded it was time to sleep otherwise it would stage a mutiny of sorts.  Alas even though I listened to it immediately, I believe it still wanted to exact revenge as my eyes popped open at the repulsive hour of 7am.  7 am.  SEVEN AM!!!!!  In case you’re not good at math that’s pretty much 2 hours of sleep.  And trust me, I am not, and I repeat not, a morning person. 

Many of you who know me may be thinking, “okay so what’s the big deal, you’re an insomniac anyhow” but even we insomniacs make up the sleep somewhere, like while driving, under the desk at work or even behind a potted plant…but I assure you we definitely need some significant amount of it, not necessarily 8 hours (because that’s just insane) but more than 2 is all I’m saying.  Truthfully though, and knowing my body, I never ever make up sleep.  As in if I get two hours, that’s all I’m gonna get and will have to suffer through the rest of the blasted day exhausted out of my mind, closely resembling a zombie.  This has sadly become my normal.

This morning I lay in bed praying I would doze back to sleep but the grey cells were firing at all cylinders as I pulled myself out to get on with the rest of the day.  I don’t want to or need to bore anyone with the mindlessly boring crap that I did but at one point I stretched out onto the sofa to read some information sent to me by a friend and apparently I feel asleep.

Remember how I mentioned I don’t nap?  Well, I really don’t.  And if you hear that I’ve napped know that I’ve managed to hit a wall of exhaustion pretty hard and my body gave me the mental middle finger and decided to shut the hell down.  This was precisely what happened today. 

15 minutes later I woke up with a jerk, my heart beating out of control, body shaking, and the overwhelming urge to puke.  And this, my friends, is precisely why I loathe napping.  I have never, ever, EVER felt rested after resting.  It sucks big ol’ hairy….um…yea this is a pretty PG blog so I won’t finish that thought.  You know what I mean though.  This is also the reason my mom and I would get into epic showdowns when I was a child as she insisted I take an afternoon nap (probably because she needed ‘me’ time and I was a lunatic kid who followed her around like a shadow and ask her such questions as “why is the sky blue?” and “why can’t I color my hair pink?”).  Now that I think of it, I was a really annoying child.  Thank God I’ve shed that, eh?  Shut up. 

Anyhoooo…the reason for my resistance was, and I know this now although not then, that my mind rarely rested.  But my mother wasn’t having any of my demands to make brownies or going to the mall and would command me into bed and force my eyes closed (she would gently put her fingers over my eyes in desperation at times).  My eyelids would eventually start to hurt not from her fingers but from keeping them closed on my own because I would start to feel bad that she even needed to force my eyes shut.  And yea, every once in a while I would fall asleep only to wake up with a start and all those horrible feelings I described above zinging through me.  This is the sole reason I hate napping and now at the age of 43, nothing has changed.  I like to fantasize about it though.

Knowing that my stupid body has never been down with the whole napping concept, I decided today to shake the lethargy and leave the house to run errands after quickly sending off a few emails and checking job boards.  Best to be as far away from the bed or sofa as possible in sheer fear.

If you bothered to read yesterday’s blog, you will recall that I spoke about how cool the weather had turned but also mentioned that Mother Nature had been terribly fickle as well of late.  Well, today she decided to turn up the dial.  As soon as I stepped foot outdoors I knew once again that MN (That’s short for Mother Nature because we’re pretty close and I can be all casual when referring to her) had betrayed me.  Did anyone notice how unseasonably warm it was?  Off came the scarf and sweater in an instant as I sat in the leather interior of my sweltering car jacking up the AC.  I would love, love, LOVE it if for once the weather would reflect the actual month it was.  Thanks, Global Warming.   Oh wait, that’s right, there’s no such thing as Global Warming [insert major eye roll here]. 

At Trader Joe’s (for those who have no clue as to what this is, it’s basically a fancy grocery store where you can’t get generic toothpaste but has the most kickass frozen meals and a plethora of chocolaty treats not to be found anywhere else), I was thrilled to find a spot under the one tree in the blasted parking lot.  Industrialization really does suck, doesn’t it?  I headed into the store and as I weaved down the side walk a gentleman in front of me craned his neck in the most exaggerated way to gaze at a woman who was at that point striding past me.  I figured she must be beautiful or something like that and decided to peak.  He hadn’t looked at her because of her looks but rather because…wait for it………….she was wearing a Kevlar vest, above her clothes, and muttering rather loudly to herself.  She was not sporting a uniform either.  Um…

*Pause…crickets…scratch head…shrug shoulders* 

This was basically my reaction.

Amazing the ridiculous shit you get used to seeing when you live in a pretty overpopulated area.   Nothing seems to faze me anymore.  Not even Kevlar worn over the clothes.  I wondered though why she felt as if she had to and then realized I was, yet again, overthinking stuff and needed teriyaki chicken instead.  That’s what I did.

Now, I’ve written entries before about my obsession with Panera’s cinnamon crunch bagels.  I would post the original blogs for reference but I kinda don’t want to scroll through to locate them so either you can do the honors or just take me at my word.  But I’ve put this (the famous bagel obsession) on the backburner for many months now.  It doesn’t help with the waistline in the least and I got pretty sick of it after having at least 3 in the span of 3 weeks (which is a lot for me).   But then…

Alright, I’m either really easily influenced or my mind is weak.  Now that I think of it, the two probably is linked.  This is a sad realization for me, I have to admit because I’ve always thought I’m pretty safe from too much external influences.  Oh how wrong I was today because earlier as I sat on the sofa scrolling through Facebook, I had stumbled upon a video of a bunch of people being asked how they liked their bagels.  It was an advertisement for cream cheese hence they were expounding upon how much cream cheese to bagel ratio these consumers preferred then had the audacity to actually have them show the audience what they liked and then...consumed it...slowly, happily, blissfully...oh god...  I was riveted, my mind screeching to a stop and my mouth flooding with saliva.    

I really should find the marketing genius who created that video and smack him upside the head and then tell his boss to give him a raise because oh wow was I Jonesing for a bagel and schmear (I don’t think I spelled that correctly but then again why should I start now, right?), right then.  

Subliminal foodie messages works on me like a charm, apparently.  This is something I know but love to deny.

Anyhow today was also Tuesday which meant music classes and the realization that I was yet again woefully unprepared and that I needed to practice…a lot more…like a lot, lot more, as in I should be busting out the harmonium on a daily basis and going at it for 4 hours at a time kinda practice more instead of the zero practice I actually do.  Thank my lucky stars that I have musical genes within me otherwise I’d be screwed.  I’m still astounded that my wonderful father, ustad, music teacher doesn’t throw his hands up in frustration and simply fire me as his student.  I wouldn’t even be mad at him. 

Now it’s nearly 3 am.  Yea, still working on 2 hours and 15 minutes of sleep.  I'm surprisingly awake...darn it but on the bright side I’m finishing up this blog.  You know what, it’s not all that exciting, sorta boring, just a silly entry of my silly life in this silly platform.  And yet, I’m smiling because my fingers are flying across the keyboard, something that hasn’t happened in so long and you know what else?  It really, really feels good.  Even if there isn’t much substance to this blog, it doesn’t alarm me.  It’s a simple testament to the fact that a few blocks have been removed mentally from my cranium.

I have some weighty topics in mind that I may end up posting soon.  Let’s see what tomorrow brings other than coloring out the white in my hair and eyeing my treadmill as the enemy.    

Till we meet again…

 

Once I was Lost...

And here I am, sitting at a quaint little neighborhood coffee shop not far from where I reside.  The floors in this particular cafe is blond wood, the walls are painted a calm soft gray with white trim and the proprietress along with the barista are charming ladies who chats pleasantly but doesn't overdo it.  The coffee is yum, the ambiance relaxing, the music a mix bag of popular covers in soft tones and eclectic whatever and there's free parking to boot.  If you know what this area is like, you know what a huge bonus free anything is and one shouldn't turn their noses up at this minor fact.  

It's turned cold here in NVA/DC, almost instantly as one day we woke up and realized, we need sweaters.  But Mother Nature is a Fickle Friend so who knows what tomorrow may bring.  As for today, it's dreary with a hint of rain in the air.  My iPhone boldly displays raindrops but they have yet to be felt or sighted.  I'm okay with this.

Staying home is not an option though in fear that I may opt for snoozing the day away on the sofa or snuggled under the covers as opposed to doing what needs to be done, mainly applying for jobs.  Besides, I needed a change of scenery due to the blues, which I've had.  Note, I've mentioned that I'm applying for jobs...still...a year later.  Yea, now you know where the blues are coming from but moving right along...

Last night on FB, as I was looking through "on this day" I reconnected with some of my own musings from years past which inevitably led to opening up this very blog (back then and now).  The reception of those thoughts had been so well received that maintaining a digital diary seemed to be something that was doable.  I was wrong in so many ways.  Although there is proof that I've blogged plenty through the years, it really isn't much at all in comparison to others who make the blogosphere their universe.  Life and laziness, both in spades, got into the way of my ponderings as I found days and then weeks slip by without typing even a single letter towards an entry.  Let me be clear, this is no excuse really but rather a fact.

Clearly I've been MIA for a while now if you go by the last thing I wrote.  In a post yesterday on FB I expounded at length about how I needed to get back to it (nearly a daily bellyaching from yours truly) and figured I needed some sort of motivation or even possibly a muse, inspiration.  I couldn't understand what stopped me over and over again from finishing up those entries I had already started (and there are many that I've saved on varied subjects).  Why did they remain unfinished, unwanted even when the topics were relevant in many ways to what's happening in the world, even to my life?  I wasn’t sure.

Then today, as I texted via Whatsapp with my girl S from Germany (I told you I'd mention our convo), I had an epiphany: I had lost the joy of blogging somewhere along the way because it was no longer fun.  I had lost the very purpose as to why I opened up this thing in the first place.  Initially it had been sharing bits and pieces of my life.  The mundane, the boring, the normal, the everyday.  But I had a unique way of looking at things (or so I was told), in how I observed the world and would spit that back out in words that would amuse others.  All this was in a way to prove that although I was of a different race, a different religion…my experiences weren’t all that different from anyone else’s, regardless of where I hung my hat.  It was my distinctive way of proclaiming “hey look, regardless of everything, we really are the same, I mean look at my life…”   Think of it as a bridge in this world where everyone seems to be on an island all by themselves with their own outrageous thoughts with no will to see similarities, only differences. 

The gain from it all was that I would enjoy the reactions I got from readers.  At times I would get commendations for making readers smile, giggle or laugh and maybe that's what I really wanted, what I liked.  The bonus would be some sort of personal epiphany or ‘aha’ moment that was delivered via my thoughts.  Commonality was achieved, a meeting of minds, a connection.  It was wonderful.  The small joys were often in watching my Google Analytics display that at least 20+ people had read my writing and it always astounded me without fail that anyone would even take those few seconds out of their world to read my rubbish.  Maybe…it wasn’t rubbish, huh?

What happened then because it seemed to be going so very well?  Truthfully, along the way I became big headed.  Yes, I said it:  Big headed or otherwise known as egotistical.  I convinced myself that my thoughts about religion and politics and world issues were important and I needed to, no...no HAD to, put them out there, to deliver a message along with every blog because otherwise what was the point of writing anyhow if not to get across something important, ground shaking, foundation rattling?

I was severally deluded.  While my thoughts are important, to me and a few close friends, the reality is that it doesn't make a damn bit of difference in the larger scheme of things.  Who precisely was I going to transform?  What was I trying to achieve other than saying "look at it from my point of view" and whereas that is important because every revolution and change starts with a simple "my point of view" I wasn't saying anything that wasn't said before.  But this need to get a message across overshadowed the fun of why I started to do this in the first place.  And now...sitting in this charming coffee spot, I realized that I didn't always want to be mired down in the 'heavy'.  Yes, I’m soul searching.

I know this much about myself and this writing talent (if you wish to call it that at all) which is that it is organic and free flowing.  Sounds super hippy dippy as if I'm burning sage and twirling around in a tie-dyed skirt with a big ol' crystal around my neck to balance my chakra or whatever, right?  Trust me, not my thing.  But truly my strength has always laid in observing the world around me with a humorous angle/twist.  At one time when I wrote, I wrote with no agenda or topic in mind (unless it was a challenge), allowing my fingers to fly freely and a stream of consciousness to prevail rather than rigid hypothesis' that requires evidence.  I have always wanted people to read some of my blabbering and think to themselves, "I've never quite looked at it like that" or "she's funny" or "maybe everything isn't so terrible/boring, it's just about perspective".  And I know now, after today, that I need to, actually have to, get back to that frame of mind in order to validate why I write at all and bring back the joy. 

And yea, I need validation.  I'm not above that. 

So here's the first entry after so long that I'm enjoying writing.  Truly enjoying.  I've been sitting here for about 3 hours enjoying the coffee, although now I’m onto a mango flavored iced tea (super delic).  The place isn't crowded at all, the music is still lovely and I had a great convo with the barista, a young woman who just moved back to the East coast from San Diego about 3 weeks ago.  We commiserated over the weather and I gushed on about how much I love this place.  It was in all honesty a sincere expression of my thoughts.  I was feeling mushy.  Did I mention that the food is good too?  It is.  There’s outdoor seating as well!  And this joint offers wines as well so if that's your thing, I say check it out.  Here's the info for my local friends: 

Emma's Espresso and Wine Bar
106 Hume Avenue
Alexandria, VA 22301

 

Here's a pic for reference of what I'm looking at: 

 

 

If you're all about helping out our local business owners, than I say take a chance and come here.  You won't regret it. 

Oh, it’s worth backtracking for one minute:  I will still write here and there about heavy, weighty topics.  I could never really give that up, particularly because it’s a way of me purging and at times my stupidly analytical brain needs to vomit thoughts all over a blank Word page.  But I won’t restrict myself any longer or stuff myself into some serious box that I can’t get out of when all I want to do is rant on about how hot/cold/whatever it is outside.  Or how the neighbor’s stupid dog barks at me and only at me every time it sees me, which I find to be rude because otherwise dogs generally love me.  Or how I stood at Ross for 10 minutes debating whether I needed to buy another pair of cowboy boots that were on sale for $22 (yes, I bought them).  But that’s for another blog.