IS IT THAT TIME OF NIGHT ALREADY?

I've always been a night-owl.

I loved working nights through college. The funniest things always seem to happen around 2 a.m.

Even meals at Denny are lovely at 3:30 a.m.



Reality as a whole becomes something completely different after you've been awake over 24 hours.





And it's true that sleep deprivation can make you criminally insane.


But even now I end up staying awake much later than I know is good for me.







Only because I know I can go back to sleep after I feed the horses in the morning.



So why am I writing this?







As an excuse to stay up just a little bit later.

MISSING PUPPY

As I have previously noted, my dog Cissy is an uncontainable bag of energy.

She will race in huge circles, much like the greyhound, as long as you keep encouraging her (i.e. shouting and waving at her like a lunatic).

She will fight valiantly against your footware as long as your toes are willing to wiggle.

When I take her outside, she runs back and forth between the horses and the goats non-stop for as long as I'll let her.

Yes, medication has been recommended.

But when I am unable or unwilling to take the time to walk the dogs, Cissy takes herself for a brisk stroll (at a dead run the entire time, I am certain) somewhere in the surrounding area, and is gone often for more than an hour.

She is off on one of these expeditions at the moment... which is one of the reasons I have time to write this!

Hopefully she will return soon with a trophy-worthy caribou or grizzly bear being drug behind her.

I'll keep you posted

HISTORY OF A CISSY

Over a year ago, I was looking for a dog to replace my chocolate lab, whom I had given to my oldest daughter. A friend of a friend emailed they had a German Shepard cross up in Tucson that obviously 'needed some room to run.'

They brought down a Border Collie cross who was, in one simple word, INSANE with energy and personality and energy and wanting more and more fun. Since they'd driven all the way from Tucson, and the dog was obviously WAY too much for an apartment dog, I said, sure, let's see how she does here.

How did she do? She peed on the carpet, she jumped on EVERYthing, she raced, she ran, she chased. When she slept, she slept like a log. But when she was AWAKE, she was, well, like I mentioned before, INSANE.

I don't know why I kept her. It was obvious, and the Tucson couple mentioned,  that she had been mistreated - it took almost a full week before I could pet her without her trembling. She was overjoyed with every single aspect of life - but also oblivious to discipline, correction or any normal avenues of dog training.

Her name had been Misty, which I felt was incorrect immediately. But she was spooked by almost everything - noises, sudden movements, other animals - she was definitely a sissy. And I can't spell anything the way it is supposed to be. So Cissy it became.

So I have a theory - or a story.

This dog, one of a fairly large litter puppies, was while not quite the runt, one of the smaller in the bunch. She was separated from her mother a bit too early, and given to a young married couple who thought she would be an adorable sort of lap-dog. And in the process of discovering this little ball of energy was ANYthing but a lap-dog, a lot of punishment was doled under the guise of being training. She was scatter-brained enough to never associate the peeing with the punishment, and ended up in the animal shelter.


But, in this fairy tale, she was then brought to a wondrous land called Palominas, and given eight acres to run and run and run across, and EVENTUALLY learned NOT to pee on the carpet...


Well, the carpet was REMOVED and replaced by hardwood floors, but the peeing still is an occasional difficulty.

And the INSANITY is still there.

SHOULDER TO SHOULDER WITH MY BROTHER

Yesterday I was surrounded by people for 16 hours.

Not just people around me, or at the same event of meeting - I mean besieged on every side, encircled by strangers (or, as I see it, friends I haven't met yet) to the point where my personal air space was constantly and continually being violated in a fashion that would have drove most people to hand sanitizer, running shrieking out the terminal, or Valium.

Yes, you are correct, sir - I was flying.

At airports, the polite waiting-in-line-at-the--bank line is suddenly compacted by a factor of 9. As drivers do, the shuffle-up-the-moment-the-light-just-MIGHT-be-thinking about turning-green-again forces you to stand with your nose on the shoulder of the person in front of you, while your carry-on bag is constantly pushed forward by the person behind you.

I tried to maintain what for me was a proper and respectful distant distance while in line, but shortly succumbed to the directed glares and significant grunts of those convinced that the additional 2 cm. move would make a SUPREME difference in getting to the luggage scanning machine.

That same frantic sense of go-go-go-go compels everyone to almost-run pace, dodge in and out of traffic exactly like the red convertible that simply has to get ahead of you until he is stopped at the red light right next to you.

I'm not old and/or grey enough to garner the respect for the elderly, but I am forced to walk at a slow pace because of my breathing problems. And much like the 'classic' Toyota from the eighties, you can stomp on that gas pedal as much as you want, but it ain't gonna get you into the fast lane.

The entire experience would be out of the question for your normal germaphobic, claustrophobic or any social disorder person.

I may soon begin putting my name in those actual categories. Mr. Monk and Howie Mandel, say hello to your new best friend.

INSOMNIA OR INSANITY?

I've always been a night sort of person.

Anything after 8 p.m. is simply more fun - everything after midnight is hysterically funny - and watching that first faint blush of dawn on the horizon is always so beautiful.

But I do like sleeping - just sometimes I like doing it at 4 p.m.

All my life I have been exceedingly scornful of insomniacs, always confident that since I could always go to sleep almost immediately and stay asleep for... well, weeks, actually, but that is another story... since I could do it, everyone else must simply be wound tight or not relaxed enough or not eating properly.

Until my uterus and I parted company, with instant and complete menopause hitting me, and obviously some hormones dissappearing.

Suddenly I couldn't sleep more than a couple of hours at a time without medication. And began that damning routine of sleeping pills, the morning cloud of Ambien-still-in-the-bloodstream (much like being drunk, just not as much fun).


And Ambien CR is classified as a NARCOTIC - which means a physician has to approve every single prescription you get for it.

I mean, do people sell it on the street or something? "Hey, kid, here, wanna take something that will knock you out completely?!" Is there an unseen profit?

And right now I ran completely out on Saturday - my pharmacy didn't request a refill until today - and my doctor doesn't get back in the office until tomorrow.


Anyone wanna chat around 3 a.m.? Look and see if I'm on-line, okay?

GOOD COP BAD COP

I have watched way too many episodes of "Law & Order" (although only re-runs that have Lenny still), so I know how to read someone their Miranda rights (and if you want to know some more about the origin of this, read this), how to handcuff someone (but let's not go there tonight, okay?), and (most importantly to this post) how to play good cop / bad cop.

Parents sometimes use this technique, which supposedly undermines what is ideally the "united" guardian front (i.e. the child learns to go to one parent instead of the other for certain things) - but show me a kid who doesn't already knowthat dad will say 'yeah, you can watch that show' and mom will say 'but only two of those cookies before dinner.'

Tonight, this method of confrontation was used with a certain offspring who is currently living at home.

And normally my husband plays the "bad cop" with the gusto of a top Nazi commander in a Jewish ghetto. I mean, it is frightening how frightening he can be.

This time? He completely surprised me by straddling nicely the subtle line between physical abuse and actually making our son uncomfortable enough to understand the importance of what we were discussing.

However, he did break his own ring finger on his right hand immediately following our discussion.

I guess if you aren't allow to get violent with your offspring anymore, you can at least get violent with yourself.

20/ 20 HINDSIGHT

I hate going to church.

Almost each and every Sunday, I am racing out of the front door at the last possible minute (or on days such as today, 20 minutes later that that), usually wearing whatever was the closest to the door in the closet, having frantically stuffed my two bags with what I think I am going to need in church.

And I tear up our dirt road - me, the resident who is OBSESSIVE about people driving ANY speed on our roads that raise ANY dust, who normally is creeping along at about 8 mph and continually staring at her rear-view mirror to ensure that I am not leaving any sort of cloud behind me - I go hauling truck at about 30 mph, HUGE swirls of tan clouds being kicked up by my tires.

I hit the highway, pressing the speed limit as close as I feel I can (and for me, that's about 3 miles over - I am also compulsive about not driving too fast - why get a speeding ticket, EVER, when all you have to do is drive the allotted amount - and don't mind having drivers continually passing you with angry hand gestures).

I skid into the church parking lot, being forced to park at the far end of the lot (people don't start leaving church until after the sacrament is passed), walk as fast as heels and an A-line skirt will let me, try to slip into the front church pew without attracting attention (yeah, like that's possible), and catch my breath.

And three hours later, without fail, I walk out of church incredibly thankful that I came to church, I was taught, I learned, and I feel hopeful for this coming week.

PEEKING OVER THE FENCE

When I stop and look back over my day, I realize my neighbors must think I am clinically insane.
(No comments necessary from you who actually know me)

I walk outside, turn on the water hose, and start yelling my horse's name.

(He normally responds, not because I am such a incredible horse trainer, but because he is an absolute pig, and is continually optimistic that I will have something, anything, for him to eat).

He takes one look at the running water, and immediately heads in the opposite direction.

The mare, however, simply adores being hosed down. I'm certain it's because when she was on the track, it was a regular deal to be rinsed after a race, and it felt GREAT.

And a 95 degree Arizonan day like today, she knows it's also going to feel good.

So she trots over, and immediately and happily moves herself right into position to be drenched.

Now my horse simply can NOT stand for ANYone or anything else to get more attention than him. He will nose or push or trample into any situation where he is not already the main center of attraction.

So, with the water still running, he dashes over, pushes the mare aside and gets under the water stream.

Now here begins the quandary - my horse does not particularly like the sensation of cold water running over his back... or his legs, or his side or any other portion of his body.

But he cannot possible give up the position of POWER.

However, he does not WANT to be in the middle of the stream of water.

So, mentally conflicted, and psychologically confused, he alternates between:

1) Hosed down or 2) Running away.

Perhaps my neighboors don't think I'm nuts - but now they know that one of my horses is.

YADHTRIB YPPAH

POSITIVE:

- Getting my hair cut by my favorite stylist, and feeling about 25 degrees cooler immediately as approximately 7.5 lbs. of hair hit the floor.

- Drinking a Starbucks Double-Chocolate Frappuccino with extra EXTRA whipped cream (I know Patty, the manager, well) while reading "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" (the movie's coming out this summer, so I need to become reacquainted with the plot).

- Getting 30 minutes of professional massage from a woman who worked with a chiropractor and gives SERIOUSLY deep massage - not quite shiatsu, but I left the studio feeling like the Pillsbury Dough Boy - all soft and squishy. It was great.

- Having a Frosty from Wendy's literally handed to me mid-route on the drive to a church meeting; my husband had picked one up for me, and since I had to leave for the meeting before he got home, there was this very motion-picture sequence hand-out a couple miles from the house.

- Returning home to eat the Oriental Chicken Wrap from Applebee's waiting for me.

- Watching (and recording) a two-hour episode of "LOST" with a LOT of face-time with Sawyer (sigh) and Sayid (double-sigh) and Juliet ending up at the bottom of a. SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT.. oh, sorry, shouldn't give that away, should I?

NEGATIVE:

- Having to take my daughter to the local you-no-longer-can-watch-regular-cable-television digital-cable-conversion shops, signing in as #87 on the list, and finally having to depend on a mutual friend to give her a ride home.

- Receiving an email invitation from one of the sweetest women I know for an early dinner to celebrate my birthday... eight hours before the 'event.'

- Being called by the same daughter, frantic that she cannot get her digital-cable-conversion-system working - told her to call the apartment complex office and have them help her.

- Having to send a polite refusual for the early dinner invitation early enough to be realistic but late enough that it was obvious I could not make it.

- A hysterical call about the digital-cable-conversion-system that still doesn't work; spent twenty minutes on the phone walking her through the most common mistakes I could think of.

- Fighting the urge to scream and/or throw away my cell phone when it was discovered that the new system did not work because IT WAS NOT PLUGGED IN.

OVERALL: A most enjoyable birth day.