Suckage

My sleep is getting all messed up again. Not sure what's doing it... I'm not working in the yard any more than usual, not staying out late every night or anything, no major changes in diet or medication... all I can figure is that my body is in a depressive period right now and while I feel fine mentally, thanks to the SSRIs I take, my body is reacting to the depression. Sort of like sleeping through an earthquake because you have a really good mattress, or something.

Product endorsement: I found some really good earbuds that do something no other earbuds I've tried do: they actually stay in my ears! You'd think manufacturers would figure this out, but no... everything from Sony or Apple ends up falling out of my ears in five minutes, but these are great. That, and they're possessed of the best, most balanced sound I've heard in any earphone other than my ancient Koss Pro-4AA studio headphones. So, run out and get yourself a pair of EarSubs from Headbanger Audio. I got mine on Overstock.com for less than twenty bucks. My only gripe is that the packaging is a royal nightmare of molded plastic that you have to cut and tear your way into. Once you do, you have a million sharp edges ready to damage the phones or your fingers. I sent them a note suggesting that a nice, simple paper box would be just fine.

It's interesting to see the same people visiting here over and over. I've gotten to recognize some of your addresses and whatnot. Not entirely sure why Melody seems to keep coming back to read... honestly, I'd rather she listen to my podcasts, I'm happier with them lately than with what I write here. I feel like lately I've had nothing suitably juicy to write (mostly because nothing suitably juicy has been occurring). The podcasts are a lot more fun, even if they sometimes hang over my head when they're late (as the July 31 edition is... sorry).

I keep going back and forth about Martha. Do I really want to go out there, knowing there's no chance it's going to work out in a way that I'd like? Or do I stay home and limit myself to whoever and whatever's around at hand, and admit that I'm old and stodgy and self-limiting just like everybody else?

Fark.

It's not like it's a difficult thing to do... I'd have the newly-fattened iBook loaded with music and movies to amuse me on the flight, I could always go see otters (alone) or go visit huge trees (alone). The flight's already paid for, thanks to a frequent-victim award from Southwest Airlines.

But I have to admit to myself that I'm going there because maybe I have this idea I could be so appealing that she'd want to pull up and move to the East with me. What a load of crap.

The more I talk about this to myself, the more I feel like I'm talking myself out of it. And that would suck, too, because I like Martha. I like her a lot. I want her to like me. Turtle instinct tells me she'll be the one to flinch, to refuse to spread her wings and fly. She'll be the one to say, 'no, there's no point in this, you're a really nice guy, but this will never work.'

And that will suck even more.