It seems I am much more popular when I am asleep. Pretty sad, really that I can't be awake/alive to experience it. Last night, at home (home home = not college home) I was bothered a whopping four times by a telephone nestled somewhere between the back of my neck and my sore arms (sore from joining the attempt to stave off the angry, converging rivers of the valley) set on vibrate. I vaguely remember being roused an annoying amount of time to halfway notice that someone had called me or these two so-and-so's had texted me.
You see, although I acknowledge that it was probably incredibly vital information people were trying to bring to my indisposed attention, when I actually lifted my groggy head and tried to maneuver my anguished back to find my phone at 10:30 this morning, it's weak little battery was quite dead.
So I'm left thinking two gloomy things: none of this actually happened and I dreamed the whole episode, inflating my self-awareness to mean that I'm cooler and/or in higher demand than I really am, or, the info was so dire that my phone's memory simply could not handle it and I will forever be left to wonder.
mubblefubbles n.
depression for no reason
Me: five letters
- Child of Modern Jubilee
- Moorhead, MN, United States
- I have no shortage of plans/to-do lists. Actual shortages include: motivation, novels by Agatha Christie, and variety of fruit in refrigerator. I'd like to one day become someone who's habits I admire. These habits will hopefully be limited to: winning, finishing self-appointed tasks, dusting, running certain distances, managing the hours in my day, throwing away old coffee festering at the bottom of my coffee pot, being on time, and of course, writing. Because as Brenda Ueland said, "When we commit ourselves to writing for some part of each day we are happier, more enlightened, alive, lighthearted and generous to everyone else...even our health improves."
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