Through my university years, I was alternately known as the smartest dumb girl, or the dumbest smart girl, depending on the speaker, the situation, or the humiliating sentence that just came out of my mouth before a filter could take action.
I am not stupid, but I do have a tendency to say some pretty stupid shit from time to time. I like to think of it as though my mind runs too quickly, and I have skipped over fifteen subjects in my head between sentences. This can either leave the listener baffled by how my two sentences are connected in any way, or can result in my stringing together words from multiple thoughts that have no business being together.
Sometimes, I just think, and therefore say dumb shit.
Well, the last few days, I have been feeling an extra sort of stupid. I have been hit with the worst case of insomnia I have ever known. It is like I have forgotten how to sleep. How dumb do you have to be to not know how to sleep? I have tried all my usual solutions, yoga, meditation, drinking heavily, and nothing is working. I lay awake pretty much all night, and watch the minutes tick by. It’s mental torture. The first night, I was thinking to myself, “crap, if I don’t fall asleep soon, I am only going to get 8 hours of sleep.” My only goal tonight, night four of too stupid to sleep, is to get a solid hour or two of sleep, and not have a total meltdown…again. I figure aim low, and maybe I won’t be disappointed.
Well, sleep is not the only thing bringing down my smartness confidence level. I managed to cut my leg this afternoon, a solid 3 inch cut in my thigh. Naturally I didn’t feel it, and I didn’t even notice it until I got blood on my hand. And how do you ask, does a person do such a thing? The answer my friend, is playing cards. Yes, I was playing cards with my son, and with the unexpectedly dangerous deck of cards, I gave myself a paper cut so deep it was bleeding. It is so long that if it doesn’t heal well, I will need to come up with a brilliant cover story to explain the straight blade like scar on my thigh. I am debating between breaking up a gang flight and stopping an armed robber ( which is essentially just stealing a certain someone’s “bullet” wound story to cover up a botched mole removal. Yeah, that’s right, you aren’t fooling anyone dude).
So here I sit, trying to remember how to sleep, over the pain of my playing card inflicted injury, hoping like hope that tonight I will sleep again.