March 17: Strawberry alarm clock
Everyday at 7 in the morning,
my alarm clock rings. Almost everyday I do the exact same thing. I shut
it off and go back to sleep.
Then I wake up 90 minutes later in a state of mild panic. I know that I have to be at work in 30 minutes. I usually skip breakfast, which causes me to have a sluggish morning.
Not good. Not good.
-
I would like to train myself to rise at five every morning. Then I could write for a few hours (this note would likely appear in your inbox at 6:30 a.m. rather than 11:59 p.m.) and devote the rest of the day to work and other obligations.
Man oh man do I wish I didn't have to sleep.
-
About a week ago, I was sick. Not just a little sick either. I'm talking so sick I can barely walk. And I was starvin, man. Thank God the local grocery store delivers.
I called them and told them to send me strawberries. It was the only food I could think of that didn't make my stomach turn over. I thought for sure I'd be able to keep strawberries down.
I was wrong.
-
Had I been eating strawberries in bed, I might very well have had a strawberry alarm clock. Thankfully, I just have a strawberry garbage can and a strawberry corner of a bathmat.
And yuck!
-
There actually was a band called Strawberry Alarm Clock, which had its heyday before I was born. Wikipedia tells me they were a psychedelic band, which means they are only enjoyable if you have taken lots of acid. I have never dropped acid or experimented with any drugs at all. I am a square. Strawberry Alarm Clock annoys me because of this. Drugs are bad.
-
Actually, I had a girlfriend who smoked marijuana. Here is why she smoked it: She suffered from fibromyalgia and the marijuana helped her deal with the pain. I didn't begrudge her for it but I told her I didn't want her to smoke it around me. She agreed. She used to smoke it sitting on the sill of her kitchen window. Once she smoked it by moonlight and she was wearing a green silky skirt and an orange tank top. I know this because I'd wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of milk.
"Hey babe," she said.
-
I had another girlfriend who smoked copious amounts of marijuana. She told me that God only listened to her prayers when she was high. She also told me that she had helped Robert Plant write Stairway to Heaven, which was a neat trick because that song was recorded 10 years before she was born.
I told her that and she scowled at me and said: "You don't understand the way the universe works. I bet you're a Taurus."
"Capricorn," I said.
"That's what I meant."
-
The preceding conversation took place at a Taco Bell, where I had just bought dinner for the two of us. She was squeezing super hot sauce on to a taco. She smiled at me and said: "Wow, I bet this is really going to burn when it comes out of my arsehole later tonight."
I don't think we dated much longer after that.
-
I am still friends with that girl's cousin. The cousin tells me that the girl has done nothing with her life in the 17 years since I saw her. She is still living in small town Alberta, still addicted to alcohol and drugs, still blaming everyone but herself for her lot in life. She is on welfare but apparently, she supplements her income by talking to the dead.
-
This note sucks. But I mentioned strawberries and alarm clocks so it's all good.
-
That girl had been married and divorced twice before her 22nd birthday. She divorced either her first or second husband because he had been drunk while driving his motorcycle. On the back of the motorcycle, also drunk, was the girl's mother. The bike crashed. The mom died. The husband didn't. But he did go to jail.
In jail, I wonder if he is served strawberries.
Then I wake up 90 minutes later in a state of mild panic. I know that I have to be at work in 30 minutes. I usually skip breakfast, which causes me to have a sluggish morning.
Not good. Not good.
-
I would like to train myself to rise at five every morning. Then I could write for a few hours (this note would likely appear in your inbox at 6:30 a.m. rather than 11:59 p.m.) and devote the rest of the day to work and other obligations.
Man oh man do I wish I didn't have to sleep.
-
About a week ago, I was sick. Not just a little sick either. I'm talking so sick I can barely walk. And I was starvin, man. Thank God the local grocery store delivers.
I called them and told them to send me strawberries. It was the only food I could think of that didn't make my stomach turn over. I thought for sure I'd be able to keep strawberries down.
I was wrong.
-
Had I been eating strawberries in bed, I might very well have had a strawberry alarm clock. Thankfully, I just have a strawberry garbage can and a strawberry corner of a bathmat.
And yuck!
-
There actually was a band called Strawberry Alarm Clock, which had its heyday before I was born. Wikipedia tells me they were a psychedelic band, which means they are only enjoyable if you have taken lots of acid. I have never dropped acid or experimented with any drugs at all. I am a square. Strawberry Alarm Clock annoys me because of this. Drugs are bad.
-
Actually, I had a girlfriend who smoked marijuana. Here is why she smoked it: She suffered from fibromyalgia and the marijuana helped her deal with the pain. I didn't begrudge her for it but I told her I didn't want her to smoke it around me. She agreed. She used to smoke it sitting on the sill of her kitchen window. Once she smoked it by moonlight and she was wearing a green silky skirt and an orange tank top. I know this because I'd wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of milk.
"Hey babe," she said.
-
I had another girlfriend who smoked copious amounts of marijuana. She told me that God only listened to her prayers when she was high. She also told me that she had helped Robert Plant write Stairway to Heaven, which was a neat trick because that song was recorded 10 years before she was born.
I told her that and she scowled at me and said: "You don't understand the way the universe works. I bet you're a Taurus."
"Capricorn," I said.
"That's what I meant."
-
The preceding conversation took place at a Taco Bell, where I had just bought dinner for the two of us. She was squeezing super hot sauce on to a taco. She smiled at me and said: "Wow, I bet this is really going to burn when it comes out of my arsehole later tonight."
I don't think we dated much longer after that.
-
I am still friends with that girl's cousin. The cousin tells me that the girl has done nothing with her life in the 17 years since I saw her. She is still living in small town Alberta, still addicted to alcohol and drugs, still blaming everyone but herself for her lot in life. She is on welfare but apparently, she supplements her income by talking to the dead.
-
This note sucks. But I mentioned strawberries and alarm clocks so it's all good.
-
That girl had been married and divorced twice before her 22nd birthday. She divorced either her first or second husband because he had been drunk while driving his motorcycle. On the back of the motorcycle, also drunk, was the girl's mother. The bike crashed. The mom died. The husband didn't. But he did go to jail.
In jail, I wonder if he is served strawberries.
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