My Exercise In Futility

I have been trying to deny how stressed out I am, but the signs are all there. First, there’s the insomnia. Ambien CR is still helping me get to sleep, but the hours of consecutive sleep continues to shrink.

Then there’s the forgetfullness. I generally feel that I have a terriffic memory – except when I feel stressed. When I get like this, I start mixing up dates or forgetting numbers that have otherwise been engrained in my brain for years. I made it halfway up the west side today on the way to my therapy appointment before I realized my appointment wasn’t until tomorrow.

And the final symptom is usually a heightened state of OCD. I start to organize everything – my CD’s are in order by artist, my DVD’s by movie title, and everything on my desk currently lines up with something else on the desk.

All the signs are there – I still don’t want to admit to it, though. In a last ditch attempt of denial – I mixed all the CD’s and DVD’s back up, messed up my desk and started relying more on the calendar feature of my iPhone.

Problem is, I still can’t sleep…

I saw him on the subway and had to capture a picture of him. I wish you could have seen his smile, but he almost caught me taking this picture – I couldn’t get another.

I have to tell this jackass to be ready 2 hours before it’s actually time to leave just so he’ll be ready when we’re actually supposed to leave. The routine he goes through to leave the house is simply ridiculous. I mean, he takes an hour to get ready to run across the street for a Starbucks – and he gets it to go!

I’ve never understood what takes him so long. 85% of his time is spent in front if a mirror. It’s not like he’s putting on make-up, so what takes so long? Once he’s finished washing, dressing, and bathing in cologne, it takes him another 15 minutes to pack his damned man purse. Wipes, chapstick, cameras, 3 cell phones, and God only knows what else gets stuffed in his carry along bag.

You’d think after all this primping he’d look like a socialite, or some made-up little princess. Nope – just average. You can’t see his face because he’s practicing his paparazzi pose and hiding, but trust me – I’d hide my face, too, if I had just spent two hours primping and came out with THOSE results.