Eating Is Good For You...Who Knew?

Dave Navarro's post on sleeping was the first thing I saw in my reader this morning. I thought about it, processed the parts that don't apply to me, and made a mental note to come back for the parts that did apply. I thought about folks I know who might benefit from the series, and then went on with my day.

I've been dragging a good part of the day, no matter how I tried to ignore it. I even planned (sort of) a post that tied in to Dave's, with an age aspect built in because I've been told that I'm old a few times today. I had all these one-liners and quirky commentary ready to go, but when I sat to write, nothing made sense.

My first thought was, "Sleep now, write tomorrow," but too many people have been telling me lately that I can and will if I believe, that I quit too soon, that I need to exceed my expectations, tell myself to shut up, and so on, and so on, ad nauseum. All I wanted to do was go to bed, people! Cut me some slack already. So I try to re-think instead of retreating, and my internal editor puts in her two cents, You're not really tired. Now I'm ready to tell her to shut up. I've already told myself that I'm not really tired (even though I'm sleepy). I don't need her telling me again.

You're not really sleepy. I can't fight everything at once, so I listen. What did you eat today? Taken aback, I stopped to think. What did I eat today? I got up at 6 and waited on my son. I played the good mommy when he got up at 10; he wouldn't normally get French toast on a weekday, but it's the first week of summer break at home. He went to a friend's; I went to the store for dinner ingredients. He did dinner at friend's house and I.... So it's 21:45 (my dad was military, "There's only one 9:45 in a day.") and my total food intake for the day was two slices of French toast. I hate it when that witch is right.

I went off to forage and came back to write. There has been some improvement in brain function, but I'm not sure how much. In future posts, I'll tell you about the dangers of the middle flame; how youth can age you; and how to make the perfect barbecue sauce. That's for the future, though, so, here's the recap for now: sleep deprivation is bad; getting up early to get more done after having slept enough is good; taking in too few calories can wipe you out no matter how much sleep you've had.

I've still got 10 minutes to make this post "today". It's 10 minutes to midnight, so I'm not quitting too soon, but I'm shortchanging myself on sleep tonight -- I'll be up at 6 tomorrow. Oh well, maybe I'll fire on all cylinders next time. I forgot about the hyperlinks...more time burned.

What Flavor Is Your Cheesecake?

Is it time for me to crawl into the bottle? I could just admit that I'm old and then maintain a stupor that would mask the depression. On the other hand, I could tip up the bottle and eat the worm to prove my youth...but I've never eaten a worm (except for some bbq-flavored dehydrated larva, but that's a different post). If I gagged or spit it out, the whole operation would backfire. Purpose defeated.

Don't get me wrong; I have no problem with my age. I have several gray hairs and feel that I earned every one of them -- no dye here, baby. I just don't want to be old. You know, "Damn those kids and their loud music" old. I'm contemplating my philosophical age at this moment because of a comment I posted on another blog. The post had a cool picture of a naked chick (very artful, check it out). My mind noted the cool pic and then moved on to the post and comments. That's where I lost it...or where it was revealed to me that I had lost it.

The writer said that he thought his readers needed a little cheesecake. The naked chick pic moves over in the mental notes, to be replaced with cheesecake. Mmmm...cheesecake. Now I'm asking about cheesecake; Dude where's my slice? I'm totally oblivious to the whole naked pic - cheesecake dimension. I'm showing signs of old (not age) in front of the entire blogosphere.

I'm sad. I have a vague recollection of hearing about a "study" years ago. They asked women to choose between sex and chocolate. I remember laughing because chocolate won. Now I wonder. Presented with a naked man artfully arranged on a table would I respond by gasping: Would you look at that! I'm sure that tablecloth would absolutely match a color in my dining chair cushions at home. I wonder where they got it?

So I sit in my pub and contemplate tequila. No, I'm not old. The cheesecake thing was a fluke. No stupor, no worm. I'm putting that bottle away and having my usual. Laphroig, no ice...or should I make that a "sex on the beach" to be on the safer side? Lemon-flavored cheesecake with blueberries on top does sound nice, though...