Let me just say that my poor boyfriend is in bed asleep right now and he thinks I am there next to him. You'd think after rolling over the entire bed basically even his sleepy brain would realize the bed was empty. He's a heavy sleeper, whatcha gonna do.
So just for the record, I did TRY to go to bed at a reasonable hour. I did! I tried really hard. I laid in bed awake for at least 45 minutes before I snuck over to my computer. That's a very long time to lay in the silent darkness for a rampant neurotic like me. And on addition, it is not my fault my mind couldn't rest, it is not my fault that my ex-boyfriends keep popping back into my life on internet networking sites in pictures with their new girlfriends looking happy and wind-tousled on the beach. That is no way to start a night of going to sleep early! That is the way to continue the staying up late brooding I've been doing for the last few weeks.
So yes I'm up at 2:30 in the morning. But still, I plan to be in bed by 3. And maybe asleep by 4. Which really, is pretty much like every other night. But at least it's not later than usual. Eh? Eh? I may not be improving, but I'm also not worsening (word?). Now tell me that attitude doesn't spell success!
I did manage to clean my bathroom today, which I was really proud of because it was the first productive thing I've done for a really long time. Tomorrow before work, I will do one of the following:
3) Clean the Kitchen
Since I can only do one of the above in my underwear without showering or brushing my teeth, I think we can all guess which shall be accomplished. But BUT my boyfriend will be here tomorrow which means MAYBE I will get out of bed when he does, and MAYBE I will apply that extra time to something useful and *gasp* outside the walls of my apartment!
Am I becoming agoraphobic? Thank goodness I have a job that requires me leaving home and interacting with people. What a disaster I would be otherwise. Imagine if I was, say, a writer (although, obviously little danger of that). That would be scary. I'd end up being dragged out of my apartment by men in white coats, probably on a stretcher since I'd weight 600 lbs, spending the rest of my adult years in a padded cell eating food portions the size of golf balls after I had my stomach stapled shut, while my family and friends cried their eyes out on Oprah over my sad sad fate.
Do you think I'd get a free make-over?
No no that would be tragic, definitely not worth whatever free cosmetic procedures and/or automobiles Oprah might send my way as a gesture of her support.
Ok I'm bored now and if my boyfriend wakes up and catches me on the computer he's gonna be soooo mad. Maybe I'd better hop back into bed and start counting sheep.