I’ve been up since 3:30 this morning. Kill me now.

Been up since 3:30 this morning.
A result of an unexpected (and foolish) descent into sleep sometime between 11:00 and 11:30 p.m. last night.
No sleeping pills either.
Doesn’t seem to matter.
Sleep pills = 4.5 to 5 hours of sleep.
No sleeping pills = 2 to 4 hours of sleep.

When I’m awake it’s all over. Can’t sleep no more no how.
So I sit in bed watching a show on History entitled The States. Actually caught the one on Nevada. The writers seemed to deem the correct pronunciation of our state of major importance.
This has been an ongoing sore spot for native Nevadans for years.
You know what I say? Who the hell cares.
Tomato tomaaaato. Let the inflectives fall where they may.
Was a bit suspicious about the seeming importance of Vegas that was put in the piece.
Oh c’mon. Reno was first with legal gambling casinos, 24 hour liquor, 60 day divorces with no criteria required and legal prostitution.
Vegas? Ha. Newcomers. Poseurs.

Okay. I didn’t really care all that much. It wasn’t even 4:00 am yet.
Think I’ll spend the next week purposely pronouncing Nevada with the long ‘a’ as in ‘ah’ opposed to Nevada with the ‘a’ pronounced as in cat.
Just to agitate people.
Oh shit. I already do that. Agitate people I mean.

So, I had coffee about 4:00 and decided that vacuuming was out of the question. Wouldn’t want to wake the Cock Sucker Elephant Family upstairs.
Oh didn’t you know? They’ve been upgraded! No comps yet but soon. Maybe I should send them to Vegas. They’re the folks formerly known simply as The Elephant Family.

On Saturday morning said elephants were vacuuming and moving around 50 gallon barrels (filled with cinder blocks) at 7:38 in the morning.
Yes kids. These are the same swine who complained about my music two weeks ago.
The music from the speakers on my computer. Not my stereo.
At 9:00 in the evening.

Must not kill neighbors. Bad for the Karma doncha know.
So about 6:00 the coffee kicks in and I decide that the time has come to clear out the Demon Seed’s room. The Room Of Doom, Storage, and Un-navigable, Unmitigated Fear.
Waited until 10:00 to run the vacuum. That’s the kind of responsible and stylin’ neighbor I am.

Finished the entire room at 3:00 this afternoon.
Tell ’em what they’ve accomplished!

1. Compacted six boxes of antique china, daughter’s no-long-prized-possessions and holiday decorations into 2 extant holiday boxes and two extant other boxes-o-crap-that-cannot-be discarded.
2. Completely emptied the bedroom out into the hallway and living room. Vacuumed, dusted and then re-stacked every last box, bin, storage rack and piece of furniture in there. There are a lot of them. I currently live in a tiny two bedroom apartment but have lived in large homes up until 2 years ago.
3. Re-arranged the shelving units and re-stacked the boxes. Broke down the boxes I didn’t need anymore and hauled them to the dumpster out back.
4. Re-assembled my daughter’s bed and made it up. Manhandled the frame, mattress, box springs and dressers. They are now accessible.
5. Drank an entire pot of coffee
6. Took a xanax.
7. Listened to some great new tunes by The New Pornographers. I highly recommend their tune Letter From An Occupant. The lead singer reminds me of Little Nell from Rocky Horror, who played Columbia.
8. Vacuumed again.
9. Yelled at Lizzie Borden to stay the fuck out of the newly clean and cleared out room

Yeah sure, it’s still cramped. I need a basement or a storage unit or a garage or a friggin house thank you very much. In the interim I DO have my daughter’s room into a semblance of order and she can sleep in her own bed on the next visit.
Sure she’s surrounded by towering plastic shelving units of boxes, a bicycle, several enormous plastic bins, enough suitcases for the Partridge Family, two floor lamps and miscellaneous computer peripherals.
The point is: she can get through the damned door, open the dresser drawers and get into her closet.
My work here is done.

I’m taking some of the back benefits from social security and buying her a ticket out here for Spring Break. She’ll be here with me all summer but damn I miss her and don’t want to wait that long. The evil little thing.
A chip off the old blockette.

Party on Garth.
Oh yeah, and pass the ibuprofen. My fucking back and wrists are killing me.
I need a hot relaxing bath but I’ll be fucked if I’m gonna scrub out the tub after nine hours of hauling around heavy boxes and furniture.
Oh Garcon! More Xanax please. Did you say one of tonight’s specials was the vicodin? I’ll also have two of those please.
Shaken not stirred.

~Miss R

Warning! Rant in Progress

This computer is still all kinds of fucked up after the Crash of 07.
Was just now able to reinstall Word.
Have also lost my XP Pro O/S and am back to XP Home –shudder-.

No iTunes and it will not run, despite repeated installation attempts. Over 1500 of my MP3’s are gone/MIA/hiding; they’re not in the iTunes folder and a Search for the file extensions mp3 and mp4 does not show that they exist.

This all started when a well meaning friend decided to ‘help’ me. This machine runs slowly. It’s 5 years old and here’s a secret:
Windows has a half life. I just know that bastard Bill Gates has done this to make sure that everyone is forced to upgrade every two years.
Am pretty sure that HP is in cahoots. Swine.

Anyway, I am not amused. Nor entertained. This entire debacle was caused by the installation –clearly done incorrectly –of SpyBot. This was done in an effort to make my machine run faster. The above mentioned friend also removed a plethora of programs.
Well obviously something went awry.

My FTP program is still functioning and contains all of the passwords and ip addresses, but Outlook Express has to be reconfigured.
Word disappeared but Limewire worked fine.
What the fuck?

So yeah.
Got some sleep last night. Would have gotten more except for a phone call at midnight. I’d just fallen asleep but on the positive side it was a good friend and we hadn’t spoken for a very long time.
Yesterday morning I was up and awake at 3:30 am, but today the sleep went on until 5:30 am. Ahhh bliss.
Warning: do not call me before 11:00 am or after 9:55 pm or I will get voodoo on your ass. .
It’s cold here in Reno and only 22F right now. Driving the goddamned Zamboni around is not helping things.
Oh it’s not a real Zamboni. It’s my truck.
Really there’s nothing quite as exhilarating as driving around in a vehicle with the passenger window in the perpetual down position. Particularly when the temperature is in the 30’s or below.
Good times.

Well, it’s Saturday night and time for the annual Reno Santa Crawl.
Don’t know if I’ll go check this out or not. Think that I mentioned the friggin’ cold, and add to that my lack of funds.

Although if I do the Slutty Santa thing (highly suggested by the charity which sponsors this event) and wear a ball gag around my throat I may not have to worry much.
It’s so festive with that leather and big red ball.

Hell, I might even score an Awful-Awful at the Little Nugget around 4:00 am.
Or, I could be home still awake and watching some movie on HBO.

I really need new business cards

Rachael C. Black
Exectutive Factotum
i can werk for cheezeburger?

Well it’s time for more coffee.
Have a weird day. I will.

~Miss R
Currently listening:
Gorgeous George
By: Edwyn Collins
Release date: 20 June, 1995

Evil Headache vs. Insomnia: Who will Win?!


S
unday finds these two looming opponents at an impasse. It’s a tie.
Not a pair of pants.
I am going to have to kill Everyone.

Okay logically I know that a person can’t die from lack of sleep but Christ. Are you absolutely sure?

Finally fell asleep sometime after 6:04 this morning (the last time I looked at the clock and after a really bad movie finished on HBO) and before 9:20 a.m. when I woke up.
Nice.
Being punch-drunk tired inspired me to do laundry, which is spinning and tumbling over in the laundry room as I type this. After that I’m gonna walk until my feet are almost blistered in an attempt to enervate myself.

There is no better living without chemistry.
There’s sure as hell no sleeping.

At 11:30 I tried Nyquil to knock myself out and escape this blasted headache via REM.
No luck.

At 2:30 I took 50mg of Vistaril (similar to Benadryl).
Still wide-fucking-awake

3:30 a.m. I knew it was no use and gave in to toast and another glass of grapefruit and club soda.

5:30 a.m. my supply of Commit Lozenges is severely depleted. The back of my head is still throbbing.

6:04 a.m. I look at the alarm clock and turn off the bedside lamp. Apparently fell asleep.

9:20 a.m. wide-fucking-awake with cat snoozing on my feet.

So this is life the last couple of weeks. I’ve been too exhausted and disinterested to write blog entries, return phone calls or leave the house.
Thoughts confused, meds depleted, urge to kill rising…

Shit.

Have you ever noticed that perpetrators of serial killings, random senseless violence and good old-fashioned postal massacres are ‘average’ folk?
They don’t drink and don’t seem to require any kind of medication to function.

Well I am pretty goddamned convinced that this is WHY they lose it.

Just a thought.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
The Clarence Greenwood Recordings
By: Citizen Cope
Release date: 14 September, 2004

This Blog Has No Title

The other evening I was alone bored stressed and depressed.
Yes it sounds just like every other night in my life but what about it.

So, I decided to re-do my myspace background (stop laughing right now dammit. it’s a creative outlet) and contact box with pics from Boston.
A little Photoshop, my digital camera, a few crops, a bit of hocus-pocus and eye of Newt. Gingrich.

I just love the artwork on the headstones from the early 18th Century.
Skulls, Crossbones, Skeletons and all things morbid and reminiscent of death.

When did we, as a society, become so divorced from the reality of what comes after?

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my fucking head hurts. pass the seroquel.

Buenos Dias Dudes!

This blog comes to you from the crumbling asphalt, failing laptop and bathing suited attire of Reno’s own Little Tijuana.

Last night I slept for 8 full hours, with only one awakening.
This is a freakish oddity of such magnitude that a blog mention is called for.
It is the potential reason that much of the day has been spent in tears, commencing within 20 minutes of slipping out from beneath the sheets.

Apparently this much rest is a gross and severe shock to the body.

In an effort to continue the ‘it’s bad for you!’ thing I decided to forgo sunscreen this afternoon. If my life extends another 5 years it will be a freak of nature and just too weird to contemplate. Therefore gaff the sunscreen and bring on the wrinkles say I.

Spent an hour today outside writing a blog on The Ancient Laptop of the Gods (pat. pend). Unfortunately the wireless slot now appears to be totally fried and this model Compaq is too old to burn a CD.
And then ah ha!

Roderick I have a cunning plan.

Somewhere buried in the house were some old 3.5″ discs.
I tore apart the closet, found one, slipped it in to transfer the essay… and the damned diskette just stuck in there. It would not read. It would not eject. It would not have the common decency to self destruct.
I am now sitting at the desktop and trying to pull an occasional thought and coherent sentence (she laughed) from the laptop screen.

It has been a day of horrors. Too bad it wasn’t a day of whores because then I could have ran the wenches and made a few bucks.
But I digress.

My Demon Seed saw a psychiatrist today, as opposed to her regular therapist. She is now on a small dose of an anti-depressant. The doc says she will be fine and her apathy and lack of interest in school is due to the depression. I’m thinking that just living with the kid should have indicated an up in MY dose of anti-depressants.

Earlier in the day I had seen the shrink (don’t go selling crazy we’re all stocked up here) and was prescribed Seroquel.
Fuck me to tears this is the third change in my cocktail in as many months.

The good news is that this drug has been approved by the FDA for the treatment of bi-polar disorder AND it does help insomnia. The bad news is

1. It was originally developed to treat schizophrenia –oh how nice.
2. Dr. Haveasquishy says “Rachael I have to tell you that one of the side effects of this medication is weight gain”

WWWHHHHAAAAT?!

At this point in the session I contemplate going from tearful and incredulous to borderline hysterical.

I’d rather have been told I have six months to live.

He continues on to say that I will have to watch what I eat and get even more exercise. Even More Exercise? Even Less Chocolate?

If I’d been given the six months to live thing I’d have it made!
Cut the gym visits DOWN to 2 to 3 days a week to keep the endorphins up, eat Bavarian pastries at midnight. Bushmills on the rocks for lunch. Bailys in my coffee in the morning. Weed in my brownies oh anytime.

But NO.
I will gain weight and have to increase the calorie counting and gym visits because the meds will theoretically curb my always happy thoughts by helping me to get some damned sleep.
What could be better? I’ll tell you; Seroquel also scrambles
your H1 histamine receptors which increases appetite.

Dr. Haveasquishy ordered blood work to check for lipids, diabetes etc because of the weight gain side effect and the even cooler side effect of this miracle medication… it can speed the onset of diabetes.

I did some research tonight and have found stories and studies of people getting restful sleep… and gaining 50 fucking pounds in one month.

I’m thinking of switching doctors. Maybe to an oncologist. Pass the Bushmills.

50 pounds in one month? Hell, why don’t I just get married again and put on 6’1″ and 185 pounds. No wait. That’s exactly how much I gained when I got married last time. All it took was the divorce decree to have that particular tumor removed.

Not as if weight isn’t an over-riding long-term physical and neurotic problem in this house. Or that the past few men I have been involved with seem to crave thin women.
WTF do they see in me then?
Hell if I know –sigh-.

A great example of my personal obsession was the hour I spent online yesterday (talk about a weird coincidence) researching Abdominoplasty i.e. tummy tucks, trying to figure out how I could rob the local 7-11 to pay for one.

It’s a mere ten grand and leaves a huge, nasty, unsightly and spectacular jagged permanent scar.
No, this is NOT my gut but it is an amazing re-creation. Well pretty close I guess.



Ohhhh but the benefits? Pay no attention that the above pictured bitch needs to take a razor to that scraggly bush…

1. No more pooch hanging down!
30+ years of yo-yo diets, pregnancy, abdominal operations and the like have left me humiliated to even take my clothes off in front of a man.
I’m a goddamned hottie in the dark though. Grrrrrrrrrrr.
2. I can wear a 2 piece bathing suit. I hear that they’re available all of these years later.
3. Wear clothes from ‘real stores’ and toss my fucking Lane Bryant card in the garbage.

Dammit Jim I’m a garden variety neurotic with occasional flights of fancy into the land of suicidal ideation. Is that so wrong?
I’m beginning to think that the only cocktail I need can be found at the Zephyr or TK’s place.

Keep in mind that depression is a boon to the creative mindset.
Happy people are idiots. The only thing they create is a pain in my ass.

Who IS afraid of Virginia Woof-Woof?

So, in conclusion, I’d like to thank you all for attending this conference. I shall bid you a fond adieu as I have no intention of ever leaving the immediate area of this apartment again.
It will take all of my willpower to either avoid any food for the rest of my life (hopefully short if that’s the case) or becoming morbidly obese and never getting laid again. Once again, thereby mercifully shortening my life expectancy.
I’m hesitant to take this new cocktail tonight. Very hesitant.
I’m not a doctor, but I could play one on television.

If anyone in the audience is interested in a used laptop one can be located in the dumpster behind 5XXX La Rue, Reno NV.

Grab yourself a piece-of-shit laptop, and enough left-over medication samples to make a move to Guyana and start-up your very own Jonestown.

First come first served.
Who loves ya babe?

~miss r

Addendum: Decided last night that I AM not taking the fucking Seroquel. The side effects are too scary. I’d rather be depressed and possessed of my normal cheery, cynical demeanor than wearing clothes from Omar the Tent Maker.

Baby’s in Reno with the Vitamin D

So another night passed yielding little sleep. Insomnia rules the world in Reno. Insomnia ruled my world in SoCal, NYC and the frozen tundra of northern Michigan as well.

Perhaps it is Fate’s revenge for the years spent drinking and passing out early. I was a fun drunk, then suddenly I disappear from a party and quietly fall asleep in a quiet place.

Too bad my mind has a defect which makes it impossible to know when I am truly drunk. It could be worse, I could have been a mean drinker or born a sociopath with no conscience and an alcohol problem.

Back to the point: more realistically the insomnia is a result of a dark, curious and imaginative mind. I’d like to think so.

 

The shoulders and back are still killing me and feeling wretched this morning. Am thinking I may have to visit a real live masseuse in the next few days. Or grovel sufficiently to one of my friends who are good at this.

Last resort: get a friend’s rabid ankle biter and pay them $5.00 to walk on my back.

Kids will do any damned thing for money.
If I am dating a guy the first thing out of my daughter’s mouth is “do they have kids? Can I babysit?” Gimme your money and no one gets hurt.

 

There’s this machine at the gym which resembles some type of medieval torture device. I’ve seen people strap their feet into it and manipulate the controls. It turns them upside down and appears to stretch the body straight, with the weight held by the feet.

If I could figure out how to use that thing my back would feel a lot better. Or, I’ll have an embolism from being hung upside down and my back would feel a lot better.

 

I’ve a covert addiction to forensic shows. Sorry. That was an abrupt transition but it does tie into the insomnia thing.

The Court TV forensic based programs started to piss me off. After every commercial there is a re-cap of the previous 15 minutes of the show. Granted that my attention span by evening is not as acute as earlier in the day, but my brain is still bigger than kitty’s and lasts longer than 15 minutes. Usually.
Hey! Is that a laser pointer you have there? No? A balled up cigarette package? Oh god please toss it across the floor.

Last night at 2:00 am I came across a new one (to me) on Spike called Post Mortem. Here’s what will suck me into the vacuous realm of television every time:

Black screen with white titles and an ominous voice-over ‘This program shows graphic images which some people may find disturbing etc etc etc’
Yeah baby. That’s the wholesome 30 minutes of gruesome goodness that I’m looking for.

 

By 2:45 I’m hungry since dinner was at 7:00 pm. Hell if I can figure out why keeping my weight down is an issue. As if eating while the metabolism is at hollandaise speed could have an impact.

I rummage in the pantry and find cashews. I eat a few and break the top off of my favorite tongue stud.
Dammit.
It was faceted, looked like a diamond and totally hot. Was being the operative word. At 3:00 am I’m in the bathroom trying to screw in a smooth end piece. If I had a boyfriend I’d actually wear that one not that I’m bitter.

Replacing the ball on a tongue piercing is a major undertaking. It is when you’re sleep deprived and organically spastic anyway. Do you have any idea of how small those screws pieces are? Now imagine trying to get the microscopic parts to connect, into your tongue, at 3:00 am.

Good times.

I’m tired and my muscles are aching. Wah.

Blasting from the kid’s room I’m mercifully hearing Fiona Apple instead of Slipknot and she has thoughtfully left 2 cups of coffee for me.

Another day. Another exciting adventure. Join me won’t you? There’s a sign post up ahead and it reads…. The Twilight Zone.

I’m going to ask the Demon seed to play some Beck now.
Feel like gettin’ crazy with the cheese-whiz.

Where’s Rod when you need him.

~Miss R

Insomniatic Ravings at 3:13 am

It’s 2:45 am and I cannot sleep. The problem is that I fell asleep about 11:00 pm.
Then wore up at 12:30, had a Commit, watched some History Channel and fell back asleep.
1:30 am wake up again, had a Commit and a short glass of club soda. Watched something on Court TV, since I’d already seen the program on Climate Change on National Geographic.
Come to think of it I’d seen the Court TV episode too.
Earlier that evening.

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Bi-Polar in a Bi-Partisan World and More Nonsense

good morning.
this despite ‘good morning’ being an oxymoron.
weird and terrible dreams all night long and i slept fitfully until after 9:00 am, waking up constantly. fucking constant insomnia of the depressed and damned.

feeling torn up emotionally and physically at this moment and taking a xanax with the first cup of coffee instead of at noon.

it may be time to rethink the plan of waiting until cate graduates from college and reschedule my date with mr. reaper (that’s MR reaper to you now eat the salmon mousse) to high school graduation.

wordpress is my ‘honest’ blog. have had another going on myspace for a year and a half, but the dark machinations in my mind are not revealed there. for godsake it’s myspace.

as their tagline says: myspace a place for friends!

it does not read: myspace a place for dark honesty and gallows humor!

oh if i ever spilled the truly dark things in my mind you would lock the doors and never speak to any person named rachael again, ala no king ever bearing the appellation john of england. yeppers there’s always one freak to spoil it for the rest of the class.

 

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Another Illuminating Overly Personal Day-In-The-Life Blog

Rachael’s Personal Meditation For Monday:

 

Today I will Terrorize my Inner Child


Couldn’t sleep last night. Not exactly a headline is it.

At midnight I took a Restoril after being involved in an IM conversation for about 30 minutes with Scott W.

For some reason Ambien and Lunesta don’t have much effect on me. So Doctor Abu Havasquishy prescribed the Restoril. It’s an older sleeping medication… and praise be to Allah it worked. Of course the night before it worked but only for two hours,  then I woke up at 4:00 am with creepy-crawlies and the committee having a meeting in my head.

Tried to relax with a bowl of dry cereal. Gluten Free ’cause I’m fucking old and my body seems to reject anything tasty except for men. Sadly they don’t seem to be in season.
This brings me to why I woke up at 7:00 am this morning, despite having managed only 10 hours of sleep total within the prior 72 hours.

“Hello Laura?” says a male voice, which I seem to vaguely recognize.
“Uhhhhh no.” It takes a moment to remember that I am in fact NOT Laura. “This is Rachael.”
Dead Silence
“Oh. This is Glen. Hi Rachael. I thought that I was calling my realtor. Um, really I’m not calling other women.” He laughs uncomfortably.

Glen is the guy who took me to dinner last night. A pleasant evening at Washoe Steak House. Here I thought that he was a nice guy because he gave just me a simple peck on the lips after our date. I was home by 7:30 thinking “Coolness. He didn’t try to cop a feel in exchange for the Filet Mignon.”
Apparently because he’s banging Laura. heh.

 

Rachael’s
39
th Birthday Again ™

Note the Tiara please.

Excuse me while I take a bite out of this Godiva truffle.
Yum. Dark Chocolate in this one.

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