Too Tired to Fuck

For the last two years, I’ve turned into a bit of an insomniac. Just a bit. If I ever fall asleep before midnight, it’s a miracle. Those of you who know me well know that I get up for work at 4am. So if you do the math, I get less than four hours of sleep during the week. On the weekends it’s not so much of a problem…I’m able to sleep in later and flesh that number out to a nice round six. Eventually it catches up to me and I spend a couple of days crashing hard as soon as I get home from work. Then I start the cycle all over again. Once in a very very blue moon, I will acquire a normal sleep pattern, but this typically only happens while I’m in Washington or Fort Bragg. So for two weeks a year, I am normal. And here you thought I was never normal. Ha!

My sleep in Washington this year was meh. I think the excitement of having Jenny, Karlos, Jared, AND Rachel with me at one time just haywired my whole system. Though that 12hr straight-through drive after the fest wasn’t quite as droopy-eyed for me as in previous years, so at least I was able to stave off exhaustion for a little longer. Which also translated to less peeing for me. Duh, because I wasn’t drinking the coffees and the Red Bulls like a crazy bitch, yo.

Unfortunately I didn’t give myself a chance to crash, as during the ten days between fest vacation and Fort Bragg vacation, I had three…count ‘em…three nights were I did not sleep at all. THREE. THREEEEEEE OMG my brain is spinning. So of course when I arrived in Fort Bragg, I was all smiles and sunshine and then BAM! I slept through dinner, dessert, sunset, and most of campfire. Rumor has it that everyone and their dog tried their hand at waking me up and I did not budge one inch. (this is another thing that happens when I reach that crash point…I am very very hard to wake up, which freaks people out. My body does it for the lulz, obviously) The rest of the week I took on a slightly normal-ish sleep pattern, but I was still just so very very tired.

And now here I am. So tired that I’m pondering “going home sick”. Last night in class, I kept falling asleep during the lecture (though to be fair, it was all stuff I already knew…natural selection, adaptation, evolution, YADDA YADDA YADDA) and I was relieved when the professor let us out early, but of course once I got home…no sleepytime until almost 1am. ARGH.

If anyone has any recommendations, I am ALL ABOUT THEM. I bake great cookies. If you can fix me, I will bake you cookies until your ass explodes from all the delicious pressure.

It’s a good thing I’m single. I don’t know that I’d have the stamina to maintain another human being besides myself…

Voices in My Head

I hate…HATE…being the “store” for the festival. It is such an unbelievable pain in the ass. It really is. I wouldn’t mind it so much if we didn’t get so damn many foreign orders. Filling out customs forms is painful, and I never ever know which form I’m supposed to use for which country/type of shipping. Why do we make shit so damn hard? Why do I have to leave the comfort of my home to ship a package to Denmark? It’s fucking Denmark. They’re all lovely people there. What evil deed could them and I be getting up to? It’s not like they’re mailing ME something. That’s when you want to get suspicious. But me to them? Give me a damn break.

Even worse are the impatient, nastygram e-mails I keep getting because god forbid I didn’t get shit mailed out WHILE I WAS RUNNING THE FESTIVAL. Sorry, from about mid-July until early August, us organizers are useless for merchandise orders. Because, you know, we’re planning and executing a fucking festival here.

I rarely complain in public about festival woes for the simple fact that I don’t want people to get the impression that I hate being an organizer or that I’m just an awful human being when it comes to TP fans. But good god. Between my absolute exhaustion and the complete lack of respect from the TP community for Jared’s and my time spent on the festival, I’m about ready to break someone. I’d actually considered just locking the store down for a few months so I could have a bit of peace, but we could use that off-season income to pay off the rest of this year’s fest costs so my credit cards will be clean for next year’s fest costs.

No. Don’t tell me to just quit. If that’s your suggestion, then you don’t know me at all.

I’m not even looking for a suggestion. Just needing to vent. That’s all. You know, ’cause that’s what blogs are for ‘n’ stuff.

How Do They Do It?

I tend to marvel over my morning coffee almost every single day I’m at work. Why? Because no matter who makes it, the shit always ends up tasting like brown water. There isn’t even a hint of that lovely bite that good black coffee always has. (you know, the bite that you add cream and sugar to cover up? Yeah, that bite) It’s just…there. Stuff in a cup. It’s as though someone sucked the life out of the grounds before we got to them. It’s a fucking crime, I tell ya. Unfortunately the closest actual coffee joint in this area is a Starbucks. In fact, I think the three closest coffee shops are all Starbucks. How do they DO that?! Jesus Christ on toast, it’s just ridiculous.

The other day, a woman tried to empathize with me in the break room.

Amanda: *takes sip of coffee, makes face, plots revenge*
Stupid Woman: Ugh, I know. The coffee here is terrible.
Amanda: Yeah. I’m thinking of bringing my own grounds in.
Stupid Woman: Oh, I should do that. I can’t live without my Folger’s.
Amanda: *makes face again, plots Stupid Woman’s death by percolation*

Folger’s? Really? Hey now, let’s not get desperate. The coffee here is bad but it’s not THAT bad. Shit’s not that bleak just yet. Life’s too short to drink coffee that comes from a metal can. (or wait…Folger’s has those stupid plastic cans now, yes? Way to create yet another reliance on petroleum products, asshats) I’m not saying I’m a coffee snob…I’m just saying that if the stuff here at work is bad, supplementing it with run-of-the-mill coffee won’t solve your problems. (Can I get an Amen? I know Jenny will give me one…right?)