Um, Rainbows. I mean no rainbows.
(In case you’re wondering — yes, I’m still in a rather terrible mood.)
So I did manage, after all my kvetching, to get to sleep and stay asleep last night, and to not sleep for twelve hours to boot (wootle!), though I woke up at precisely the flavor of later-than-I-wanted-to-wake-up I expected, which was 9:30 EDT. Yeehaw.
I also had a really weird, messed-up nightmare that at one point involved my Mom getting socked in the head so hard by something that she went all woobly (fortunately, my stepdad was there to make sure nobody panicked) and at other points involved … just … weirdness. Weirdness I can’t even remember, at this point, but weird enough that I finally just said, “Look, I’m not taking any more of this. This has to be a dream,” and woke myself up.
(Fun fact: I used to do quite a bit of that lucid dreaming thing. These days, I generally don’t, except insofar as when my dreams become really annoying — which is much more common, in my world, than dreams becoming frightening — I usually go, “Oh, wait, this giant pile of BS is just a dream,” and wish myself back to wakey-wakey land.)
Anyway, I made it back to sleep pretty much by main force, and then it was difficult to wake up because I was both dehydrated and desperately in need of a good pee, and under those conditions I will sleep and half-sleep and even one-sixteenth-sleep as long as humanly possible to avoid making the dreaded choice between the two (for what it’s worth, when I’m awake and rational, I realize that the answer is easy: pee first, then stick your head under the bathroom faucet and schlorp up water like a deranged mastiff for ten minutes — but I’m just not that rational when I’m asleep). So I slept ’til a little before 9:30, then staggered off to the head to complete the offload-and-reload cycle, then staggered back to the bedroom and, for some stupid reason, picked up a book (okay, so technically I picked up my Acer Iconia and fired up the Kindle app, but that’s how I pick up a book half the time these days).
I have live with myself long enough now that I should well and fully understand that if I have a day off, picking up a book is the worst thing I can do if I want to do anything else (like, for example, ride the bike). It is the one and only thing I can do for a long period of time that involves sitting still. A little voice — not That Little Voice, but one of his relatives, presumably: I think there’s a whole family up there these days, what with That Little Voice and the Big Voices and all the musicians — helpfully reminded me that this was a Very Bad Idea, but I didn’t listen. I rarely do.
And, so, a little before one, I finally hauled my slovenly porterhouse out of bed and — once again by main force — made myself trek downstairs and cycle the laundry (clean dry laundry into hamper; clean wet laundry into dryer; dirty laundry into washer) so I would have something to fold. Then, because I kept attempting to read while folding laundry (this does not work even with the text size set to GonzoNormulous on the Kindle App on your 10″ tablet PC), I turned on The Best of the Dog Whisperer so I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on reading anyway.
And then I proceeded to get a whole bunch of stuff done.
Needless to say, though today would’ve been a great, even an ideal day for it, I did not ride the bike. Instead, I cleaned like a madman, folded great oceans of laundry, and ate way more food than would have been entirely appropriate under the circumstances. I discovered an unopened and still-nowhere-near-the-expiry-date package of my favorite long-day-in-the-saddle protein source (teriyaki beef jerkey chunks) hiding next to my nightstand and squirreled it away … um … somewhere (I am rather disturbed by the fact that I can’t recall where, right now). I packed up most of my winter kit (cautiously leaving out my thermal bib knicks and a longsleeve baselayer shirt as a hedge against causing a cold snap). I swapped out the catbox we think maybe Merkah doesn’t like so much in favor of the Old Familiar.
And now I am taking a break, waiting for the next little — we’ll call it a lagoon of laundry — to be done.
I realize this isn’t how one becomes a faster cyclist. If anything, this is how one becomes a fatter cyclist (though I guess I’m still doing okay in that regard, neither gaining nor losing weight, but instead hovering around an increasingly-irritating 166 pounds because I don’t get out and ride my pastrami off like I ought to be doing at this point). I also realize that my April Strava report, for all that April was supposed to be Thirty Days O’ Cycling month, is as riddled with holes as a slice o’ Havarti.
Where was I?
So today is the first of May … it is, right? Am I crazy? And I did not ride my bike. Tomorrow I will definitely ride, as I have Things To Do out in the Great Wide World, but today, not so much.
Here’s hoping the rest of the month will see more progress on the bike. Maybe I should stop hoping and do something about it, but I am feeling sort of “meh” about further scheduling my life.
Then again, it could turn out that I actually enjoy scheduling things.