Tired

A lot of people would say it's manipulative of me to post a picture of a cute puppy, who's obviously so tired it can't keep its eyes open.

I agree. It would be if the picture had nothing to do with my post, which fortunately it does.

Because that's how tired (and cute) I feel tonight.

For whatever reason, I haven't slept well the past week. A couple hours at a time at most, up for an hour, then a couple more. That kind of interrupted sleep pattern, together with Friends reruns at 3:30 in the morning takes a toll. And tonight I'm paying it.

So I'm going to do something I haven't done in a very long time ("Put up an interesting post!" I heard that). I'm going to bed early.

I start a new gig tomorrow, and I want to be refreshed and ready to tackle a couple things: the assignments waiting for me, and scoping out new sushi places for lunch. Not necessarily in that order.

Anyway, as this Sunday night winds down - at least for me - let me wish you what I wish for myself: A great nights' sleep, sweet dreams and a cool breeze to carry you away on.

I'll save Scarlett Johansson and the winning lottery ticket for another post.

Taking the e-asy way out

I fully intended to have a new post up tonight. And like we've all come to expect, especially me, it was going to be witty yet insightful, terse yet pithy, lengthy but well written. But here's the deal: after the past five days I'm feeling more beat up than Tyler Durden.

Not only is my back killing me from my lovely and unexpected auto accident last Wednesday that I told you about here, but I'm also exhausted from four days sleeping on grass, standing in line, walking in halls and sitting in chairs at Comic Con.

I'm not complaining about the Con. It was teenage fun.

I am complaining about the car accident. That sucked.

Anyway, if you've been online anytime in the last couple years, you've probably noticed the explosion in Your e-cards and someecards. These are cards you make online and have added to a library for all the world to use.

I've custom made a lot of them for various posts on here, and I've also used existing ones.

Anyway, since I'm falling asleep in my soup, I'm putting up a few I like for your enjoyment.

By the way, I'm fully prepared for the lecture I'll get from my friend Rich over at Round Seventeen about taking the easy way out on this post.

I just hope he doesn't wake me when he calls and yells at me.

3:54 AM

I know what you're thinking. Well, no I don't. I don't know jack right now.

It's 3:54 a.m. and, once again, I am wide awake. And of course, doing exactly what sleep experts tell you not to do: working on an electronic device.

It seems some ultra-blue whammy jammy light from the screen disturbs your sleep patterns. Oh really? Guess what Sherlock - if my sleep patterns weren't already disturbed I wouldn't be up writing this now would I?

This happens to me more and more frequently. For a variety of reasons - or sometimes none at all - I just get up around three and don't go back to bed until about five. Then I have to be up again at 6:30 a.m. to take one of the kids to school, or work, or wherever. I don't even know. By that time I'm so numb and tired I'm lucky I can get where I'm going.

Since every condition has a name thanks to the internet, this one is called Middle-Of-The-Night insomnia, or MOTN. It would've been a more creative name but they were tired. Anyway, the disorder is characterized by waking up in the middle of the night. Just like a fever is characterized by a high temperature, or a headache is characterized by your head hurting.

This doctor stuff isn't so hard.

There's also a school of thought it isn't a sleep disorder at all, but a natural sleep pattern where you return to sleep in about an hour and a half. That makes sense. You need time to recharge from all that sleeping before you can go back and sleep some more.

Anyway, I'm sorry this post isn't funnier, smarter or better written.

Maybe if I wasn't so tired...

The weight is over

I've written a few weight related posts on here. Like this one. And this one. Or this one. Maybe this one.

I know what you're thinking, because I'm thinking the same thing. "Why doesn't he get off his fat ass (literally) and just lose the weight and quit talking about it?"

Okay. That's what I'll do.

I'll do it because I'm tired. I'm tired of the running joke I have with my daughter every time we see a morbidly obese person (the joke is "Look it's my new best friend." because by comparison, well, you get the idea). I'm tired of the other joke which is "I have to ask him where he gets his shirts." Tired of the vast wardrobe choices I have between my remaining two pairs of jeans that fit. Shopping knowing nothing is going to fit? Really tired of it. I'll do it because I'm tired of reading about my copywriter friends like Rich doing things like this.

Most of all I'm tired of being tired from carting all this lard around.

Hey, you know what I'm not tired of? That joke about Oprah sitting "around the house." Still gets me every time.

I think about organizations like Fat & Proud and Fat Liberation and the propaganda they spread about how you can live a happy life if you're overweight, and still be just as healthy as if you weren't. I imagine it's easier to spread that philosophy than lose the weight. A low-fat spread if you will (I know, but it was right there).

It would be easier to believe their company line if it wasn't being drown out by their hearts screaming bloody murder and their scales yelling at them to make it stop.

By the way, just for the record, I'm not grossly overweight. But I do need to lose a significant amount. The problem, besides constantly shoving food down my piehole, is that I can carry a lot of weight and not look like I'm carrying as much as I am.

But it's a numbers game. And I know the numbers.

So, once again, I'm writing a post about losing weight. The difference this time is I'm on it. This year, unlike too many years past, I'm not waiting for New Year's to make the resolution. I'm putting it out there for the world and my friends to see, and hopefully hold me to.

Weight gain is a slippery slope, and I don't want to wind up like Orson Welles in his later years, weighing over four hundred pounds and dressing in black all the time.

Although I wouldn't mind knowing where he got his shirts.