Naptastic, Crap Day: Ultimately Okay.

This was an odd day for me. I’ve been a bit off. But off seems to be turning par, so maybe everything was exactly as it should have been.

I got out of bed at 9:00am. I’d been in bed nearly 12 hours. As you’d likely guess, I didn’t sleep 12 all that time, but I like to think I got a bit more sleep last night. In bed about 9:30, up at 10:15 for water and the restroom, and then I got up for the same every hour until the about 1:15, and then I just stayed in bed. I didn’t sleep all the time from then on, either, but I did sleep, and I woke up, and I may have slept more than I was awake.

I just had my first sip of wine tonight. See: odd day.

When I rolled out of bed, I felt so strangely drained. Off. I can’t really explain. I’d been up drinking water and peeing so much in the night, I didn’t expect to feel so depleted and dehydrated. I really only had 4 beers last night, stretched over several hours. I was nowhere near drunk. But I woke up just not feeling great. I slugged a Berry Veggie.

My wife had made up a batch of waffle batter (with spelt flour, and I couldn’t really tell you what that is, although I see it more and more these days [WAIT—google…and…eh, quick answer ‘cause I don’t really care is it seems to be like wheat but with more protein and fiber]). So I made myself some coffee and poured the batter in the waffle iron and I think Angie went to do some grocery shopping, but I honestly forget right now. Sure, I could ask her, but I’m not going to. It’s likely she went grocery shopping.

I made myself two waffles, nicely buttered and syruped with that wholesome maple goodness. It looked a lot like the picture below, which is a picture of my breakfast this morning. Now I want another waffle. Dang.

I sat down at the table and, even though Liam had already had breakfast, he pretended he hadn’t and I shared some waffles with him. But I only ate about ¾ of those two waffles, which I guess is still quite a bit of waffle, and I only drank half my cup of coffee. I still don’t get it.

Angie got home and we briefly discussed the non-rightness of my feeling, then I went out to handle some garden matters ‘cause, feeling good or not, some things simply must be done. I started feeling a bit better when I realized there were some beans to be picked. Not a huge amount, mind you, and not even all the same varieties—my garden, it’s just not at its best this year, which means I’m not at my best, and it’s largely the soil, I think. I’ll fix it. Don’t worry. Just not this season.

I came in with a handful of green and purple beans, enough we’ll be able to have ‘em as a side dish for dinner at some point this week. Maybe tomorrow—I don’t know what’s on the menu, and it’s not my night to cook.

But I’d come in all excited about the beans and Liam was already napping on the big bean bag. It was about 11:00, I think, so that’s cool. I wasn’t up for the farmer’s market—still just not quite right—so Angie went on while I sat back in the smaller bag, planning to read but feeling so tired. This is where things got really weird: I almost fell asleep, but then Liam stirred and was about to fall off HIS bag (he had been sleeping at a precarious angle, anyway) so I sprung up to grab him and in one swift move grabbed him, laid back in the big bag, and got him immediately back to sleep on me, and then…I NAPPED!!!

No big deal, right? Except for this: this is the third time I can remember napping since…since I can remember realizing I could never nap. Time number 2 was when Liam was just a wee guy, and I was out from work on family leave due to his having just been born (thank you, California), and I’d hurt my back and was dosed up on pain pills and I fell asleep with Liam on my chest. Angie got a photo. The only other time than that was honestly my favorite sleep ever, as weird as that may seem. A favorite sleep. But I’ll explain, briefly.

I was at geology field camp in the Tobacco Root Mountains of southwestern Montana. I was heading into my senior year of college. Or was it after? I should remember. I could check. Not important. Suffice it to say, this camp is not easy. It’s known for that fact. We were working on our final mapping project, quite a large effort, and fires had been burning all around us for a while. I mean, not instantly around us, but residents were evacuated 30 minutes away. We shouldn’t have been out hiking around in it, but there was classwork to be done. It was several days of work, and I finished up before most (or maybe all) and was pretty content to have done so. It was raining. I was in full rain gear and perfectly dry. Summer in Montana, the rain killing some of the smoke from the wildfires. I sat down somewhat low on a ridge, a valley to my left and my right converging in front of me then continuing straight away. It was beautiful. My hood was up. I leaned against my backpack and I listened to the rain drumming on my hood and…then someone woke me up to leave. I was only out…maybe an hour. But it was the best sleep ever.

Anyway, so I napped today. And I woke up at a couple of points, like when Angie got back from the market or when Liam would stir and readjust, but I slept and when Liam finally woke up and I woke up it was 1:30. I’d hardly accomplished anything, and that’s SO WEIRD for me at that point in the day (which is probably one reason I can never nap), and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was so excited to have napped, but also feeling even more off because I’d done nothing but harvest beans and water the garden. And eat. So I ate a bit more, but I wasn’t super hungry, so it was really just the almonds and banana and an apple and then I decided I wanted to go for a bike ride.

I was thinking of just a 10-mile out-and-back. But see, Border’s is going out of business. One of my favorite things is to bike to Borders, browse around and pick out a book or two, then bike home. Realizing I wouldn’t have the opportunity to do so much longer and curious what prices had been cut to, I biked to Border’s. It’s about 17 miles round trip, depending on the route and such, but it’s generally about that.

I felt great biking there. I’d say I made good time, but since I wasn’t timing myself, I have no idea. I think I spent a long time there. Again, I have no idea. I ended up with two more books in the backlog, one of which would make my sister proud: One Hundred Years of Solitude. The other is a T.C Boyle book. These are details you don’t care about, likely, although I guess what I’ve read has shaped how I write and you’re reading my writing…which still blows my mind. I love to read.

I tried to find something for Liam and failed, so I rode back home and it was about 5:30 and I was greeted by my son-in-diaper and I got a big hug. Those things make all days great. I felt pretty good. I told Angie I’d grab a shower then cook dinner (tacos again tonight, because we’re really not all that original and tacos are relatively easy and quick), so I took a shower and then started cooking. Then, inexplicably, I really started feeling like shit; I mean real bad. I felt like I was going to vomit, or maybe pass out, but most likely vomit, but since I’d felt such guilt over not cooking Friday (when Angie made pan-fried chicken, mashed ‘taters, and salad, which I totally left out of the blog [curses!]), I got it all finished up and then laid back in the big bag to see if I’d start feeling well enough to eat.

If you don’t know, it’d probably make sense for me to explain we have giant bean bag chairs. And these aren’t the litte-foam-ball-filled bags of yesteryear, when we were all growing up, oh no—I’m talking about big 4- and 6-foot diameter polyurethane chunk (think ripped apart couch cushion) filled behemoths that never squish down to nothing (though they do take a re-fluffing from time to time), and they’re pretty much the best purchases we’ve made in the last year. If you have kids…well, just see the photo below. That’s my boy when he was 8 months old in the big bag.

Happily, the wave passed and I was able to polish off four tacos, all accompanied with more water. And things since that have been pretty standard. I poured this glass of wine, but didn’t touch it until I sat down here and typed about it earlier. I just spent my time playing with Liam and our dogs. I go out with the dogs when they need to use the restroom in recent times to keep them from destroying the garden while eating fertilizer. We all made quite a ruckus in what we tend to call the yoga room (although not much yoga is done there, and it’s pretty much a living room, I reckon) while my wife was doing some reading. I gave Liam a bath and brushed his teeth and got him dressed and Angie rocked him off to sleep.

The day has passed, and I don’t feel like I did much, but I guess that reminds me of the whole point of this blog: you don’t have to go to great lengths to be a fit and healthy person. I continue to sleep terribly. I was battling some inexplicable nausea. I got maybe 40 minutes of exercise in, and the intensity, for the point of this blog, is not important. The thing is I made myself do it. My life is boringly normal. I work; clean the house; cook food; do laundry; play with my son; play with my dogs; spend time with and talk with my wife; entertain friends; spend time on the computer; read; and sometimes exercise 20, 30, 40, or 50 minutes—or not at all. Most often it’s around 30 minutes. But I’m not on my ass all day, and that’s the point.

So good night, odd day I’ll likely remember for the rest of my life: the day of nap number 3.

A Little Sumpin' Wild

I sure am tired. Never fear, though: I’ll not sleep well tonight either, likely. It’s 8:59 on the computer clock. My wife is putting our son down to sleep. A couple friends of ours just left after a good time of eating and chatting. It was a good Saturday.

The day started off with me in bed. No surprise there, right? The unusual thing is it has gotten to the point Angie is getting out of bed before me. It’s not that I’m asleep when she gets up, it’s that I’m staying there, laying there, praying there (if that were my thing) to go back to sleep; to right this wrong and bring my hours of sleep to where they should be. I feel guilt when she’s up before me, because that’s usually my thing, and she only gets up when Liam is up, which means I’m slacking on my parental duties. But I’m trying to catch up. So I lay there, and I think I lay there for a long time, and then I get up and I ask, “So when did you get up?” and Angie replies “Oh, about 6:45,” and I look at the clock and it’s 7:10 and I realize I didn’t lay there all that long.

I’d planned to make breakfast, but the good wife beat me to it: bacon, which I sandwiched between my double fiber bread, and pancakes, which I covered with butter and real maple syrup. I had my French press, still working on a light-roasted Costa Rican. I had a lot of it, because I wasn’t off to a good start today. I strapped shoes on Liam and took him out for a bit of the morning garden rounds, but there was quite a bit to be done and he ended up back inside, as did the dogs. Things were watered and inspected. Then I cut lots and lots of basil—some was rinsed and stored in the ‘fridge for later pesto or what-have-you (like the burgers tonight), and some was left for drying. I picked a few tomatoes and lamented the fact that I seem to be incapable of growing a significant amount of beans. I laughed at my pygmy corn, a product of my poor cultivation, not genetics. I shook clouds of pollen from the more prodigious corn plants in other beds. We have a reasonably sized garden, all in raised beds. It took quite a bit of work for me to set it all up, and it’s dominantly ghetto: you won’t see this shit in Better Homes and Gardens.

The breakfast was in the middle of the gardening—outside, in to eat, then back outside—and then we attacked the house. It was a day full of cleaning. We split it up pretty well and did a real thorough cleaning: every room, floors mopped, dusting, pulling out furniture…the works…or as close to the works as we get. Better Homes and Gardens would still frown upon us.

Early on I was feeling starved for some friendly social interaction, so we invited a couple we know over, who happen to have a very cute 10-month old. Or he’s just about 10 months; a few days short. Liam will be 16 months in 2 days. Jebus. We set the time for 5:00pm and continued cleaning. Cleaning became more important. I drank a pint of OJ.

A bit after noon, Angie headed to Whole Foods and I stuck around to clean. I wasn’t super hungry but was grazing a bit on nothing out-of-the-norm: almonds, banana…I intended to have an apple, and then I forgot. The day went quick with the cleaning. I spoke on the phone with my sister for a long time. I called my grandma to wish her a happy birthday, one day late, because the 3-hour time difference kept me from calling after work yesterday evening.

With things largely in order, I made sure Angie wouldn’t mind and headed to the pool to get a swim in. I’m not sure what’s up with my swimming lately: I’m enjoying it. It hasn’t been as hard. And today was weird for a few reasons.

1)      The gym was damn-near empty. So was the parking lot, which makes good sense. The pool was damn-near empty, and I didn’t have to wait for a lane.

2)      I’m pretty sure I counted my 10^th lap 3 times.

3)      Due to number 2 above, I stopped counting my laps, which I never do, and decided I’d just make sure I got 30 minutes in. That was kinda nice, except I don’t know how far I went.

I swam a bit longer than 30 minutes just for good measure, which probably meant about 35 minutes. I just wasn’t into details today. I usually do 20 laps in about 10 minutes, so I surely swam more than ¾-mile, but I just can’t say for sure. I coulda (yes) swam more, but it was after 4:00 and I’d promised to not be THAT long and I needed to get some dinner prep underway.

When I got home, Angie had made some guacamole and was cutting some Yukon golds for fries. They make great fries. She also made a salad of mixed greens, cheese, croutons, and some green onions from the gardens. The burgers were on me. Sixteen-percent-fat ground beef, chopped red onion, a few small cloves of minced garlic, minced basil from the garden, salt, pepper, and some of those green onions mentioned above. I mixed that all together with the beef, pressed out some burgers (with two mini-burgers for the mini-humans), and put it all in the ‘fridge ‘cause like us, these friends are ALWAYS late. When you expect it, you plan for it. I put the whole wheat buns in the countertop convection oven, waiting to toast them on the bagel setting so only the inside of the buns get toasty. I’d started drinking.

Oh man, how could I have neglected to mention this for so long? There are a few breweries I love. You’ll hear of them. This one, it’s fairly close to us in Petaluma (a couple hours’ drive away and we’ve never been there), it’s called Lagunitas, and this beer: it’s one of their limited releases: A Little Sumpin’ Wild: it’s a malty, high alcohol brew with a Belgian yeast, apparently. I thought it was a wild yeast strain, but I guess I was wrong. That’d make good sense, though, given the name. It’s not a typical beer, it’s super-fantastic, and it sits around 9.5% alcohol. I love California. Angie got me the six pack as a special request. I started drinking it after my swim. And I’m not hammered or anything, I’m only on number 3…or 4? I’m not sure. But the first was like 4 hours ago, so there you go. All is well.

Shortly before our friends showed up (they’d texted about 5:30 to say they were on their way [see?]), I put the first batch of ‘taters in the fryer. Good ol’ deep frying. They arrived, Elba scared their poor guy with her barking. Nosta is the smart one. She’s the character judger, and she’s good at it. Elba barks at everyone. She knows these folks. They’ve been here many times. She barks at them every time, and this time their little guy was big enough to be scared by her. That’s okay, though: she’s doing her job.

It was a good evening of conversation and food. Those burgers with white cheddar, the fries and the salad, and they brought a chocolate cake they’d made with zucchini in it (we all grow zucchini, and if you’ve ever grown zucchini, you know you need to find things to do with it) and walnuts on top. It was real good.

And now here I am, less wordy tonight. I cleaned and swam today. I ate well. I drank beer. I’m still trying to finish this last one. I drank a bit of tea that may help me sleep. I sure hope so. I wish it’d make me not dream, too. Do others hate dreaming?

So good night, clean house. I’d better say it now, ‘cause you’ll be dirty in the morning. That’s the way it is with a toddler, two shepherds, and two cats. At least we don’t have that gerbil-sized spider I killed last night to deal with. It’d probably make a mess, too. 

Household: Safe. Spider: Dead.

Oh, I’m not real into this tonight.

I thought I’d slept better last night, and even woke up a bit excited about it. But then now it’s 8:30 and I’m beat. I’m cranky. I was happy earlier, though. What happened?

Awake around 6:00am, up around 7:00. Dreams…those damned dreams. They’re not bad dreams, I just hate dreams of any sort. I also hate hearing about people’s dreams: random strings of nonsense. It was like I was dreaming of the future, 5 minutes from the present—I kept dreaming I was waking up, then I’d wake up. And I think that confused me into thinking I’d slept well, when really I just kept waking up. Prescience.

The great thing about Fridays is they’re a full telecommute day for me. I DID go to Bella Bru for breakfast, and I DID have my lemon poppy seed muffin and mocha (after I’d polished off a Blue Machine). There are certain joys to being a person of certain dietary routines. There’s a girl that works there who’s almost always there when I am, and I think her name may be Laura or Lauren but I’ve never asked, but she knows what I want to eat and drink, knows my name, and always calls Liam “Little Stan.”

Anyway, it was a bit before 8:00, and there was an unusually long line, and I was watching the number of lemon poppy seed muffins dwindle. I could feel my mood dwindling. There were four when I got in line, then three, then two left. There were families in front of me, people with 100s of kids all ordering muffins, it seemed. Liam was squirming in my arms from the long wait. Then there was only one of my muffins left. I started to sweat. I wanted to call out or lunge or do something to make that last poppy seed muffin mine. I was staring at it. I was trying to will others to order anything but that last damn lemon poppy seed muffin. They’re glazed on top. They’re sooooo good.

I almost cartwheeled when I finally got to walk up to order, but then I also almost shouted “LEMON POPPY SEED MUFFIN!” just so I beat the person at the register next to me to it. No worries, as it turned out—I stepped up to the counter and Laura or Lauren (though I think maybe Laura) set a bag and a cup on the counter. “Lemon poppy seed, right? And here’s your mocha.” She deserved a hug, probably, but that would have been inappropriate, so I ordered a berry bran muffin for Liam. And I tipped, which I don’t normally do for coffee and a muffin. Call me cheap if you want. They aren’t getting paid below minimum wage, and it’s coffee and a muffin at the counter. And I get that kind of service, so they must not mind.

Liam and I automoted (ha!) home, me behind the wheel eating my muffin carefully: upside down, tear off bits from the bottom…savor…eat all the soft stuff up to the top, then finally take in that crusty glazy muffin top. Mmmmm….

I’m drinking a super cheap syrah tonight. The best cheap wine there is in my world: Smoking Loon syrah. It usually sets me back about $6, and it’s just so good. There were cans of beer earlier. I’ll get to that.

I put Liam in his high chair, broke up his muffin and gave him some coffee with whiskey—or, I mean milk, really (REALLY)—and got to working. I have a big work plan I’m drafting up right now. Confusing, boring, difficult, and annoying, but it has to get done. It consumed my work day, which is fine. It will consume many more. I also managed to get a bit of garden time in, play with my boy, do some laundry, tighten up the bolts on the high chair, and go for a run.

Yup, it was the first time I’ve run since Sunday. See: no regimen. It was lunch time, and I wanted to get out there before it got too hot for the Elbster (our younger pup). Nosta, she was a much better runner than Elba. Unfortunately, Nosta’s just too old for it these days. Elba, she’s like the sled at the tractor pull. She may keep up in the beginning, but she’ll start dragging ass. It’s okay. She has a lot of fur; she gets hot. And although the internets all told me it was only 80 degrees at the time, it was surely around 90. The on-line temperature is never right. Never. My car tells me so. Also, Elba’s not running very routinely. She loves it, and she’s a good dog.

My wife and I have names for all of our runs: The River Loop, The Berry Loop, Grant-cil Hoffman, Sutter/Landis, etcetera. (Just because no one ever spells etcetera.) Today Elba and I ran the River Loop, which is about 3.5 miles as most all my runs are these days, down a residential street, through Ancil Hoffman Park, then back up a series of turns on other residential streets. I was pushing Liam in the Iron Man stroller. Hills suck when you’re pushing a stroller. Kids don’t get lighter as they grow, either.

Even though it wasn’t the Berry Loop, there are still berry bushes on the way out of the park (which is about 2.5 miles into my run), so I stopped to eat some berries. I was dismayed to find the bushes so heavily picked over. Still, I found some goodies, and Liam was refusing, so I purpled myself and ran on. Elba appreciated the rest in the shade.

After the run and the stopping of the sweat, I really needed to get food in our stomachs, so off to Whole Foods we went. There, big surprise: we shop at Whole Foods for most of our groceries. And I’m not ashamed: I LOVE Whole Foods. And it’s so close to us. Or close enough.

<<Okay, I just battled a giant spider and won. Battled. I spotted it while petting Nosta. It was staring at me from the doorway. I stared back, trying to beat the gaze of so many eyes. It gave me a wicked smile, and I shuddered. I stood. I tried to call my wife in to witness; to call 911 should the need arise. She couldn’t hear me. I was on my own. I was in my flip flops. I went to step down on it, but it held my foot up and pushed me backward. I gathered myself. I could hear it laughing. Breathing. It was mocking me. But the details aren’t important. I killed that bitch.>>

I got some bananas and apples and more Naked Juices ‘cause they’re still on sale and I ordered a half pound of peppered turkey breast sliced up for sandwiches and she cut too much so she gave the surplus to Liam as a “sample,” and Liam ate that stuff down. He ate a banana on the way home. I ate some almonds. And another Naked Juice, now that I think of it. Probably another Blue Machine. Huh. I wouldn’t have done that if I’d thought about it. When we got home I made a turkey sandwich with swiss cheese and Stout and Ground Mustard on double fiber bread with sea salt and ground pepper potato chips on the side (I thought I had some lettuce, but we were out), put Liam in his high chair with a bowl of applesauce, a spoon, a bit of my sandwich, and some milk, and I got back to work.

There was a bit more playing and laughing with my son. He did some napping, of course. A little after 5:00 I stopped the working and started folding laundry. Liam was handing me clothes, and I kept saying “thank you,” and I always thank him when he does good things, and he started saying “thank you” back. Pretty darn cute.

I like to shake corn when the male flowers are all up and open and the anthers are dangling and I can make big clouds of pollen. But that happened this morning. Chronology is not my strong suit. Speaking of which, I forgot about those cans of beer. There were cans of an IPA at Whole Foods and, having never seen such a thing, I bought a six pack. Not bad, but there are better IPAs. Sorry, Minnesota: Southern California will win every time in that department.

When Angie walked in the door around 5:15, I popped the top on a can of that IPA. Oh, the novelty. It wasn’t my most eventful evening. I had a bit more typing to do, I wrote way too long of a message to someone about wine, and my wife started cooking even though it was my night to cook, which made me feel guilty (I just wasn’t hungry or focused) right up until I just saved our household from that giant spider. GIANT. I ate the rest of the Talenti Double Chocolate ice cream while strolling the garden. It’s not going as well as I’d hoped this year, although I’m learning, so I guess that’s good and hopefully I’ll make things better this fall and next spring.

After his bath, Liam ran out to me naked, me typing this blog, climbed into my lap, gave me his open-mouth kiss (he just leans in with is mouth open—it’s nothing salacious), then climbed back off. Again, just so darn cute. But that was a while ago. He’s asleep now. Our house is kinda dark. I’ve just about finished off glass-of-wine-two. I may pour one more, do a bit of reading, and go to sleep.

So good night, book to my left that I’ll never read by Lee Strobel called “The Case for a Creator.” Way to be original in your titling there, Mr. Strobel. (Ahem: Day 7.) And topic. That may even be more annoying than Michael Pollan. “The Botany of Desire” was brilliant. “The Omnivore’s Dilemma” was okay. And then you started beating the dead horse. Get off it, already. New topic.

But they’re getting paid. I’m not, so I can be as annoying and repetitive as I want. Wait, that probably makes them smarter than me. Drat. I did just kill a fly with that Lee Strobel book, though. So good night, dead house fly. Ew.

The Day of the Face-Punch

This blog makes me pay more attention to my day and what I do, and I think of all those things I should say and type. And then I forget a lot of them. I ate ice cream last night: Talenti Double Chocolate—it’s like edible gold. I forget to mention doing the dishes, or folding laundry, or throwing sticks for my dogs while I tend the garden. There’s only so much I can recount, I reckon.

Drinkercising: that was my exercise of choice today. Yes, I decided today was my day away from the hard breathing and sweating. Thursdays are date night, which doesn’t always equal no-exercise-night, but this night, instead of exercise, I drank. I also ate. Back to the beginning.

It was the worst night of sleep yet, as far as y’all’s reading is concerned. Yes: y’all’s. That’s surely proper somewhere. I’m getting tired of talking of my tiredness. It’s not always this way. Onward, though.

Liam woke up early. I got up and pulled him into bed with us, but he’d made up his mind: 6:00 was wake-up time today. “Get with it, mom and pop,” he mighta said if he’d been able. He’s a babbler, not a talker, so instead he babbled. He also said, “Cat.” He says “cat” a lot. I noticed Angie push Cat #2 out of the bed, and it amused me. So does starting with Cat #2. Cat #1 is Opie. Opium: that’s her full name. It makes sense, but I don’t know why. She’s real old.

Who’s Cat #2?

Out of bed. Dragging. Short sentences. <Drink of wine.> The beginning…the beginning…right. Okay, the normal greetings. Out to the garden for some thorough watering, because I had the time for it. I filled that time with watering, and then I watered a bit more. I slammed my last Blue Machine. I knew right off I wouldn’t be exercising today. The fatigue is getting to be too much. Then again, though, I could have. I didn’t. Days off are important.

Work. Oh man, work was great today. Well…an email exchange that nearly drove my fist through my monitor. My lack of sleep was shining through in my social interactions. I was snappy. Pissy. Bitchy. I was in a mood. The normal mocha, sure, and the two packs of oatmeal with flax. Anger, apologies, mediation. All in a day’s work. But getting work done? Nah, not on a day like this—it was just one thing after another.

Em-dash: Ctrl+Alt+Num-. In case you were wondering. En-dash? Ctrl+Num-. –

Sex? Well, I never!

Grammar. Syntax.

“Message sent from my iPhone. Please excuse errors in spelling and grammer.”

I’m all over. Wow.

Okay.

I ate my pink lady (apple) today. I ate a banana. I ate potato chips. I picked up my son, who was immediately asleep, and came home to work more. I transferred him to his crib. His nap was lengthy, and I made a PB&J. Strawberry J. Pretzels. They’re pretty much gone. I don’t know what lunch will be tomorrow, and that will cause me some consternation when I finally get hungry for lunch. Breakfast? I’d bet on that lemon poppy seed muffin and a mocha. Good morning, Bella Bru.

The work afternoon was a mass of confusion: trying to decipher it. Untangle it. Getting logical with the illogical is…illogical? That’s my work world, all too often. Liam napped a long time. I got a lot done. He woke up and wasn’t interested in eating, but he WAS interested in dancing, so we did a bit of that. I got the dishes done. The work day ended a bit after 5, my wife got home, and I did a bit of yoga. I mean a real little bit, ‘cause I found myself standing on my mat, staring out the window, unable to think of a stretch I wanted to do. I did the wheel. My lower back cramped. I stopped, reassessed, and stopped. Rolled up the mat. DATE NIGHT! I showered again.

I love showering. I think if I could go through my entire day in a warm shower, I’d probably do it. I’d probably look a lot older though, too, given the prune factor. But when I finally dried out, would I have pushed aside the effects of aging through intense moisturization? MS Word hates me tonight, and I don’t blame it.

Thursdays are great date nights when you have a baby. No waits. We went to a favorite of ours: Matteo’s. It’s an Italian place from a prominent local chef with another restaurant we could rarely afford, if we could ever even get in there. It’s limited: the Supper Club. Someday we’ll try to go. At Matteo’s, though, they know us. And they know their wine. But I’d started before them. Two small glasses of that zin before we left. Angie and I split a salad, we had an order of parmesian garlic bread, and I ordered fettuccini alfredo with chicken, which is pretty standard. That’s something creamy I like. We shared with Liam. Wanna know what Angie had?

That’s cool.

She finished before me, and as she and Liam roamed outside I finished my second glass of wine…at the restaurant. Fourth. I don’t even know what it was I was drinking there, because I’d never heard of such a thing. “A red blend…a real punch in the face,” as it was described by Matt, our waiter. I had to learn his name since he’d known ours from very early on. He seems like a good guy. The wine was Argentine, but I really can’t remember what it was called. I’d call it Face-Punch now, probably. It was strong, for sure, but didn’t seem to lean toward any one varietal. But I’m the guy that swirls my glass, sniffs, sips, tastes, and then declares, “Hmmmmm…this tastes like…good.” I wrapped up and paid because I’m such a gentleman, and our accounts are combined anyway. I like to think Angie paid. I’m just the middleman.

John Butler is singing on the speakers. He used to get high for a living, apparently. Which reminds me there was a guy playing acoustic and singing at Matteo’s, and he was pretty good, and who can hate The Day the Music Died, although I’d surely hate it if the music actually died. How do you punctuate a question within a statement? You probably split the sentences into sensibility.

~~Tip: when you open a bottle of wine and are dangerously close to drinking the whole thing, leave a splash in the bottle. Then you don’t have to recognize the fact you just polished off an entire bottle of wine by yourself. Nevermind what you drink while you’re out—that counts differently.~~

Cold Stone is only a short walk from Matteo’s, so dessert is always easy. I usually get a Love It of something. (If you don’t know, well, too bad.) But I was so full, and I felt like I probably only needed a Like It, but the girl there knew us and we haven’t seen her in a while so she let me know she’d give me an extra big Like It, and I loved it: cake batter ice cream with some Kit Kat bar.

We came home and the party started, Liam running and dancing and getting spun about like a smiling happy…baby that’s getting all spun and happy. We played and danced and jumped around so much I started sweating. I took off my shirt. I’m irresistible. (I just made myself laugh out loud, and my wife looked at me but tried to pretend she didn’t really notice.)

I read Liam Skippy Jon Jones earlier. I love reading that book. It’s so fun to read aloud.

I read him some poems from Where the Sidewalk Ends before leaving Angie to rock him off to sleep. I poured more wine. I’m looping back to my earlier tip, but one glass earlier. There’s a splash left in the bottle. A few drinks left in my glass.

So goodnight, splash-of-wine-in-the-bottle: you know you’re doomed. I hate to admit it in such a public forum, but who are we kidding? You’re mine. And I just put on some Air Supply.

And suddenly you found me oh OH OHHHHH!

Day 5, and These Numbered Day Titles are Annoying

I’m getting wordier. Lordy. And I use lots of parentheses, colons, semicolons, and em-dashes. I realize this.

This has not been my best day; I’ll say that right off. I couldn’t fall asleep last night. I was up ‘til 11:30 writing, neither pills nor alcohol helping to push me to bed. (Don’t mix pills and alcohol. I’m not recommending that. I’m heartily against it, and so is your body. But….) I went to bed around 11:45 and lay there, trying to drift. I started getting close around 12:30am. My son woke up, and I rudely forced my wife to get up to help him back to sleep. In those moments, when you’re so tired and trying so hard and you’re so close to sleep, all you want is to drift off. And I have an understanding wife, and she got up to help Liam, and at some point I finally fell asleep. My wife is the best.  

I woke up when her cell phone alarm went off: vibrating on silent mode. We don’t have a clock in our bedroom, and I never set an alarm. It works out. But I laid there in bed and tried to stay asleep. I tried so hard. I forced that Bruno Mars “Lazy Song” into my head. During exercise, it makes me feel lethargic. In the mornings, oddly and unfortunately, it makes me want to jump up and convulse in my typically arrhythmic dancing. I pulled my pillow over my head. I hated the fact that I’d dreamt once again, and remembered it. I wished myself to sleep. I listened to the household moving around. I got out of bed. There was no choice. Things didn’t improve from there, really.

I greeted my family, of course, but I was in a fog—zombified (not a word). I slugged down a Naked Juice Blue Machine. I hung my head as I walked out to the garden to water that damn corn, and damn everything else in the garden and its’ needs: that’s how I felt. I showered. My wife left for work. I realized she had the keys to the truck, which I needed to drive to work. I called and kept getting voicemail. I started working since I couldn’t get a hold of her. I always have work with me. It’s a sad sign of the times.

You see, I’m not lazy; I’m productive. That’s largely the point of this blog, if you haven’t picked up on it, which would be weird since I pretty much point it out continuously. Sitting idle is something I’m not sure I’m wired to do. Or if I ever was, I rewired and have a hard time going back.

I finally got in touch with Angie after she got to the office, and the phone call didn’t exactly make her morning, either. She drove back home to give me the keys I needed. I got more work done. When I became automotively (also not a word) mobile, I drove to my favorite coffee shop, and they f’d up my order.

They know me there. I was surprised this morning that even someone I’ve never interacted with knew me by name. “Stan, right?” It made me smile, but it was the smile of a zombie. It was probably scary. Normally I’d get a lemon poppy seed muffin, but they were out, so I ordered an “Everything Bagel,” toasted, with butter, and a large mocha. I drink mochas or my French-pressed black coffee. Those are the only two options in my world, as far as coffee is concerned. I got my mocha and my bagged bagel, got in the truck to drive to work, and realized they gave me cream cheese instead of butter. “DAMN IT! AGAIN?!?” That happened last time I ordered a bagel toasted with butter. I hate cream cheese. Or, I don’t eat it. I can’t claim I’ve had much of it. I’m not sure I’ve just tasted it straight-up. It grosses me out, as many creamy things do, so I shy away from it. I ate my bagel plain. It was still good, but butter would have made me happier.

I was in a foul mood, but I can usually hide that pretty well at the office. I’d neglected to pack myself a banana or an apple. I was out of almonds. I wasn’t hungry anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal. I was just tired. I worked. At one point I rolled out the exercise ball, put my feet up on it, did 10 pushups with my feet on the ball, paused in a 45-second plank, then did 5 more pushups. I worked more.

It got close to noon and I got hungry but I had no fruit or almonds. I did have oatmeal and potato chips that I’ve had there for 2 weeks. The potato chips were surprisingly not stale, so I crammed some of those in my mouth and left the oatmeal—a good healthy choice. Ahem. I was still hungry, so I pounded two pints of water. Angie and I did the vehicle switch, and I left to pick up my son about 20 minutes past noon.

He was asleep when I got there. Not ideal, but par for the day. He woke up on the way out. That was the last he’d sleep until 10 minutes ago. As usual for my blogging, it’s about 9:30. I’m drinking wine. My glass is smaller than some of our others, but it’s glass number…3? I dunno. I finished off the malbec from the other day at dinner and just poured a glass of Montevina zin. Cheap and good. I’m jumping ahead.

Turn on flux capacitor, get the DeLorean to 88.8 miles per hour (serious shit), and let’s get back to the past. Wait, that’s not right. Whatever.  

So it was an afternoon of balancing sleep deprivation, my son who should have been sleeping (he’d only napped about 20 minutes), and lots and lots of work. I get my work done. I like my job. I do it well. I work too much. I try to balance.

I made myself another grilled cheese, this time with the addition of some Sierra Nevada Stout and Stoneground Mustard (it’s mustard, not beer) and some parmesian cheese. Real butter, double fiber bread. Pretzels. (Newman’s Own Pretzels have lots of fiber, but I don’t always eat those, honest. See earlier reference to my bag of potato chips at the office.) I drank water. I shared with Liam. He just wanted the pretzels. We also split a banana. I worked. I did a bit of yoga, spread out over a few hours: three sets of sun salutes; warrior I, II, and III; crescent moon; I dunno. These are the terms I know the moves by, but they may be wrong. There were a couple others. It wasn’t extensive. I was just trying to keep my mind and body going, and any small bit of yoga is better than what I’ve been doing lately (i.e., no yoga). Move blood. Try to get some kind of positivity into my head.

My frustration built as the day went on, but not for any good reason. It’s just this sleep thing. It isn’t always this bad. I know of one reason it’s worse right now, but the ever-present underliers elude me.

My wife got home around 5:30. I didn’t really feel like exercising at all, but it’s my swim day and that’s the one day I hate to skip because it’s the exercise I hate the most. (Weird?) It’s my weakest. So I don’t let myself skip it. Often. (I skipped last Wednesday.) And the Wednesday thing sounds like regiment. Okay. But the truth: Mondays I can’t swim, because of the long day at the office. Tuesdays and Thursdays my gym has water aerobics, and that really limits lane availability and frustrates me greatly. Fridays are a wildcard, and usually my weekends are filled with other things. But I force myself to swim once per week. I think it’s important, possibly because I don’t like it.

~~A qualification: it’s not that I don’t like swimming. It’s a fine sport, and good exercise. But I find it difficult. It’s all form. It’s the hardest thing for me to do of the things I opt to do, physically, but it burns the fewest Calories. (It’s true.) That sucks. But swimming has lots of value (like the upper body workout), and although I may dread getting started, or be indifferent to it at best, I always feel great afterward.~~

I ended up in a lane next to a swimmer. Or, a better swimmer than me. Somehow, near the end of my workout (a total of 64 laps [or 32, depending on your definition of a lap, it seems, so a bit beyond 3/4 of a mile] and somewhere around 35 minutes) we ended up talking. “Swimming is my worst event; I have to make things up on the bike and run,” he said. Of course, he’s a triathlete. I asked about the distances he does. He’d just finished his first half iron man, and decided based on that he prefers sprints. The one I did was somewhere between a sprint and Olympic, leaning toward Olympic. I don’t guess our conversation is all that important, although he told me I should do the Golden State Tri in October, which I think about every year. I could probably do a sprint tri tomorrow if I wanted to—sorry if that’s annoying. And the Golden State Tri is a sprint. But I haven’t done it yet. He made me feel, once again, like I should. I fear typing it here, because I’ll feel even more like I should. And what kind of un-regimented example would I be setting then? Oh yeah, that’s right: I’m not too regimented now and I could probably still go ahead and do it. Maybe I will. Damn it.

Damn it.

I finished my swim and soaked in the hot tub for a bit. It’s almost ritualistic for me: swim, hot tub, steam room, sauna, shower, home. I don’t know why. I’d forgotten to take water with me. That’s not good. I drank from the fountain. That’s fine. I got home and my wife had dinner pretty much ready: salads (greens, green onion, Italian dressing, parm, and croutons for me was all, ‘cause I don’t like raw tomatoes or cucumber) and lasagna, which she’d made with ground beef and zucchini from the garden (the zucchini, not the beef). It was darn good. I drank my wine.

The day was passing too quickly. I fed our dogs. I went out with them to check the garden and it was really getting a bit too dark to do much checking. I picked close to 30 tomatoes, mostly Romas but a few volunteer Early Girls, and a couple of strawberries. I came back inside in time to help brush Liam’s teeth (he hates it), watch him run his last tired laps around the kitchen and living room, and kiss him goodnight. I love that boy so much, even when my patience is so limited by this sleep thing. I love my family so much. Immediate and extended. Okay…whatever, it’s true. They’re fantastic. I have a wonderful family.

I think I put the finishing touches on my Baseline blog. I’m not sure it’s conveying what I want it to convey the way I want to convey it, but I reckon you’ll be able to see it soon, if not now, and I welcome comments. I always welcome comments. Questions. Exclamations of “Liar!” and “Bullshit!” and “You are SO wrong because…” and “You’ve totally neglected to consider….” I want to learn. I want to be corrected. I write things like I know something. I don’t know anything. Or much of anything—I know I need to get some sleep.

I’ll finish this glass of wine. I did get a bit of recreational reading in today, still working through that Hiaasen novel. He’s such a fun read.

So good night, basil-plant-I’ve-singled-out-in-my-mind: I know you need water, and I’ll try to get to that in the morning. Don’t look so down; I’ll help you. Hold tight. And again, good night.     

Day 4

Another full stomach, but this time it’s my doing. Inversion IPA number 2 for the night at my right, a typical sight, good ol’ craft brewing. (I was just reading Shel Silverstein to Liam.) Seriously full stomach. Sit back. Breathe…let the waist out a bit on the kilt. HA!

My day started a bit early today, not quite by choice, but I was roused from bed a bit after 6:00 and the rest of the house was up nearly simultaneously. It’s mostly okay by me; I was awake anyway. I just hadn’t gotten out of bed. Tossing and turning and dreaming through the night. I hate dreaming. Honestly. Although a good, thorough, deep sleep would sure be appreciated. It gets tiring to hear of my poor sleep, no? Well, try not ever sleeping well—it’s even more tiring.

Ah, but there are things to do. I greeted Liam for the morning and got him drinking milk and running about the house. I went out and made my garden rounds, really soaking the soil because I just haven’t been doing a good job of that lately. Or my corn would probably tell you I haven’t. (It’s a bit upset ‘cause I planted it so late in the season. I understand. I do my best. I’m still learning.)

Back into the house for a pint of orange juice; a shower; the brushing of the teeth. I threw a banana and an apple into my murse (that’s the man-purse, for the uninformed [yes, I have a kilt AND a murse: I’m a MAN, bitches, with all capital letters]). Forgive me: it was a long day of work.

I got to the office about 7:30 today. It’s never good when the internet and email are down at your office, but being the telecommuter I am, I have a lot of work on thumb drives, so I was able to be productive while the majority of my office doddled. (MS Word doesn’t think “doddled” is a word. Maybe it’s right.) I made my office mocha, as usual, and had two packets of my instant oatmeal and flax. I had a meeting I expected to last 30 minutes—it ate 90 minutes of my morning. I had documents to deliver. Some went out. Others…well, I’ll just say they’re festering. No—marinating. I have an acquaintance that has used those words interchangeably, and it still makes me laugh: “let your meat fester in that for a bit….” Anyway, I didn’t do any pushups or stretches at the office today. There just wasn’t time…or I didn’t think about it…or the others in the meeting would have really thought I was weird...not that it stops me every time. I tried to force a walk to the meeting, but the person accompanying me had a tough race over the weekend and wasn’t much up for the stroll. I can respect that.

I know the details of my job are boring. I finished off my bag of salted roasted almonds, ate my banana and my pink lady, and was stressing about all the things I had to do. I managed to get out of there a bit late (12:20-ish) and go pick up my son from daycare, who was asleep in my arms before I got him in my car. It’s typical for him to start a nap around that time, which works well for my telecommuting. I get a lot done while he naps for 3 hours. Part of that included making myself a grilled cheese sandwich (real butter, my double fiber bread, yellow cheddar) and snarfing down some of my pretzels while I got email after email and proofed documents. Neat, huh?

So ultimately my son woke up, as he’s wont to do, around 3:30, and I got him eating while I kept working. Of course I’d love to just play with him non-stop, but I DO have a job to do, and like I’ve said, my work load has doubled or tripled in the last few weeks with no sign of a drop-off. I’m not complaining. (Plot spoiler, a day late: Ashley chose J.P. Who’da thunk it?) Around 5:00 I made myself stop working and got to the dishes I didn’t do last night and straightened up the kitchen (Calories burnt). I played with my boy (Calories burnt). My wife got home just before 6 and I promptly hopped on my bike for a ride (Calories burnt).

I got a 40-minute ride in today, and that was all. Just 40 minutes of exercise. (For those that care, I road about 14.5 miles; it’s a known loop for me—I keep neglecting to charge my Forerunner, largely because Liam has a hard time leaving it alone when he can reach it.) I’d planned on a bit shorter ride, but it was a beautiful evening and riding along the American River Parkway is something I greatly appreciate about where I live, so I dove into the loop instead of the 10-mile out-and-back I’d planned.

The highlight of my ride? At the beginning, on a busy street, cruising along in the bike lane, approaching a young guy with a dog on a leash that just didn’t look right for him. It was a small dog, long haired, and meticulously groomed. That in itself made me smile. Even better: when the dog started toward me a bit and he yelled “Toto! Toto!” Yes, the dog was named Toto. I laughed out loud. This is an example of a reason I can enjoy my exercise so much.

It was my night to cook, and tacos were on the menu. We make ground beef (16% fat, they say) tacos. I tend to make my own mix. Rarely does anything I cook taste the same twice since I fail to measure any ingredients, and I tend to experiment. Into the ground beef tonight went Roma and Early Girl tomatoes, green onions, and a gypsy pepper (I don’t trust ‘em) from the garden, plus a bit of red onion from the farmers market, and a mix of paprika, garlic granules, cumin, chili powder, a touch of cayenne powder, a bit of corn starch…and some water. Oh, I also grated some zucchini from the garden and tossed that in because…wellllllll…why not? I had three tacos on hard shells and one in a soft shell. More onions and lettuce from the farmer’s market, a hefty dose of the yellow cheddar on ‘em. Then I went back for one more and mashed it all up into a salad. I’m still so full I haven’t had another drink of my beer. It hurts. I should have more control, maybe. Ah, screw that.

Here I am, it’s 9:30 again, and I’m not one bit tired. I should be. I’d like to be. I wish I…be. But I’m not. So I’m probably going to read while Angie finishes the Bachelorette. (C’mon, you really aren’t choosing Ben?!?)  So goodnight, Ashley and J.P. May you live happily ever after which, given the history of this show, isn’t all too likely.    

In the interest of my blog's integrity, it's now 11:44pm and I'm adding this edit. I hope to be alseep soon. I've had a couple glasses of wine while writing about physical baselines. I'll probably post that soon, but I need to re-read it at some point. I notice I'm not editing my posts well. Errors I don't normally allow myself, but I don't really have the time to devote to continual re-reads, and I'll assume you offer some forgiveness.

So now I say goodnight mouse; I'll tap your buttons again tomorrow. 

Day 3, A Daggone Monday

Oh goodness…I’m sitting here with my stomach painfully full. It’s swollen with the goodness of my wife’s cooking for the night. (We trade cooking [and dish-doing] responsibility every other day, for the most part. Honestly, she’s not the only one that cooks. I’m on the hook tomorrow.) Since I still taste my dinner, I might as well start there, then do a time warp and jump somewhere else in the day. Or, better yet, I’ll start with getting home for the day, when I got to walk in the door to my wife mixing up a batch of beer bread she was planning to roll out as pizza dough, give her a little kiss on the neck, say hello to my pups, and give my boy a big hug and kiss.

I hate Mondays because they’re the longest time I spend away from my son. Yes, I work 40-plus hours per week. So does my wife. We don’t have the luxury to do otherwise. But we DO have jobs with family-oriented management who allow us some flexibility in our work schedules, and it’s something we appreciate greatly. Those details are for another blog entry, perhaps, but suffice it to say Mondays are the one day I always spend the least time with my son, and I hate that.

Anyway, hellos were said, hugs and kisses were given, heads were petted and patted, and I realized it was pizza night. (It’s not that Mondays are pizza night, it’s just that my wife was making pizza.) Unfortunately, I had some immediate garden-tending to do, so I grabbed a bottle of the Inversion IPA and went about the gardening while Angie made dinner: pepperoni pizza on the aforementioned beer bread crust with the pesto remnants from last night for sauce and big salads on the side: (a colon within a colon?) mixed greens, a bit of carrot, green onions from our garden, sliced up pepperoni, a healthy dose of cheese, and some croutons dowsed in an Italian dressing. I scarfed my salad, and subsequently threw back three slices of pizza, all washed down with the last of my barbera from last night. Geez I’m full. But it was a full day. This seems just.

Another night of poor sleep, but better than the last. I tell ya, the pills just don’t help me much. After lying in bed for a couple of hours, tossing around in bed like a cyclone then spending a good 15 or 20 minutes watching Angie and Liam sleep, I got up at about 6:30, leaving my wife there sleeping with Liam, who ended up in our bed earlier in the morning. We don’t always do that, but we sure aren’t against it.

Naked Juice was on sale yesterday, so I grabbed a few at the time, and I started the day off with a Berry Veggie. Then a pint of orange juice and a quick perusal of the garden. Angie telecommutes on Mondays, so I dove into the routine, got showered up, packed for the gym later in the day, and headed out to work.

I got to the office around 8:00am. I ate a handful of blackberries my wife picked last night. I love the fact we have an espresso machine at my office, and I made myself a mocha (3 espresso shots, 2% fat milk, and 2 heaping teaspoons of cocoa mix), and had a packet of instant oatmeal with flax seed. How busy was my day? I finished that coffee at 11:30.

Work is work, but it was one of those days where I nearly shit myself once (crass, I know) due to an unexpected phone call and was otherwise like a hamster on a wheel: trying my best to accomplish SOMETHNIG, yet not really succeeding at much. Meetings. Reports. Pushups, but only 20.

~~Sitting at a desk all day isn’t great. It’s not good for a person. You burn Calories doing anything, sure. (I already have a blog entry I’m dying to write about baselines, I just need to find the time.) But I try to break up my days with something: sit on an exercise ball instead of my chair, stretch, what-have-you. Today, the one time I thought about it, I dropped and did 20 pushups. Yup.~~

Lunch started with salted almonds. Servings per container…how many? My ass: let’s make that…5, at most. A bit later came a banana, then peanut butter and blueberry jelly on double fiber bread. (Whole wheat bread is great. This is like whole wheat bread on steroids, I guess: 6 grams of fiber per slice. Thank you, Rudi’s Organic Bakery, wherever you are.)

~~Important point: eat natural peanut butter. That other stuff, it’s pretty much hydrogenated oil with peanut flavoring. It’s terrible for you. Natural peanut butter…sure, it’s not almond butter or whatever, but it’s a trade-out you should make if you haven’t already.~~

A bit of some of those whole wheat pretzels, which are also very high in fiber. (I’ll explain my fiber hang-up sometime. You’ll understand.) More work. On good days, especially since I work through my lunch, I can slip off to the gym in the late afternoon for a quick workout. Today was one of those days when I left the office at about 5:30, then headed for the gym after emailing Angie to apologize for the long day and sucking up my guilt about not going straight home to be with my family.

Yes, it was a gym workout day. The “what” of my workout isn’t the point, though I will share. But it’s not meant for comparison. Again, I want to do that blog on baselines, but….

I decided last week to start making myself do a bit of lifting again, and I don’t like to do a lot of that, so I did two supersets. A superset, if you don’t know, is when you do one exercise then immediately do another, take maybe a 60–90 second rest, then repeat. I tend to do three supersets per pair of exercises. So I did a superset of various pull-ups (8 reps per set) with various pushups using an exercise ball (12 reps per set). Destabilization can really bump up your workout. Then I did a superset of squats (6 reps each) with some light-weight clean and jerks (8 reps each), which can make you feel real close to popping a lung. But no lungs popped. Then I got on the treadmill for an interval workout: ¼-mile slow, ¼-mile fast, 4 repetitions, a little over 2 miles run total. It was honestly a struggle to make it through. Internal drive is important. We all have it.

My automotive drive home loops me to the beginning of this blog, which I’m writing while drinking a bottle of some Argentine malbec. I love malbecs. I love wine. And I’m really, really tired. It’s 9:30pm. I want to read, but I have a feeling it will keep me up later than I should stay up. “They” will say one should read to wind down before going to bed, because that will help one sleep. “They” must not read very interesting books.

So I’m going to slug down this last bit of wine in my glass and go to bed. I’ll fall asleep quickly. I’ll probably sleep okay until about 3:00 or 4:00. Then I’ll wake up a bit, and the tossing and turning will begin. I’m not being pessimistic—I consider myself an extreme optimist, but I’m also a realist who knows myself all too well. So good night, orchid. You were such a lovely gift, and I generally have such a green thumb, and somehow I’m killing you. I suppose I know how, and I’m trying to correct it, but maybe it’s too late. Sorry ‘bout that.