By this time in the evening, I am super excited that I get to go to bed. This was not always the case, because when I was young, I (clearly unlike every other normal child in the world) felt I was missing out when I was packed off to bed at approximately 4:30 pm. This may be a mild exaggeration, but I do remember still hearing my friends playing outside, while I scrunched my eyes shut in an effort to keep the still-shining daylight from streaming into my wide-awake eyes.

What a good cat (Minnette the 2nd).

Now, it’s a different story. I LOVE going to bed. Sleep is awesome. I function best on somewhere between 7–8 hours per night. I made it through my entire MBA convinced that I was one of that rare breed that needs only 5–6 hours to get by at peak performance. It’s amazing what your mind can convince your body of, when it needs to get tricky. Shortly after defending my thesis, I began to wonder why I was so upset and angry/sad all the time.

I began The Great Sleep Experiment, in which I got no less than 7 hours sleep and discovered many things about myself. One of the key learnings was that I cry way less, about far fewer things, when I’m getting adequate sleep. Life, it turns out, was secretly being awesome, but I’d been too sleep-deprived to realize.

Now, I put sleep first. Sometimes, it means I miss my morning exercise, which sucks and makes me resentful, but at least I have a good reminder to hit the sack earlier the next night. I’ve said this before, but if Bridesmaids taught me anything (and I was just as shocked to learn it had as you are, reading this), it was that I am indeed my own problem, and my own solution.

Which leads me to my next point: I should really not save my blogging until I am about to go to bed. I’m gonna try something different tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes…

Today is Thursday. As you may recall, Thursdays = Everest. I work, then I teach, then I go to class for 3 hours, getting home at about 10 pm. It’s long, but I can generally hack it.

Not today. My brain was fuzzy from the get-go, for some unknown reason that has yet to make itself known. I drank some coffee, which didn’t work. It was decaf, so at least we know they mean it when they say they took the fun out of the beans. Eventually, I wandered down the hall to an unoccupied office, shut and locked the door, turned off the lights and closed the blinds, and had a cat nap. Actually, I kept half my brain awake, so it was more like a dolphin nap than a cat nap (although, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen Maui sleep, and I’m wondering if this might explain her general tweakiness. I’m no good on less than 7 hours…).

To be honest, I didn’t really sleep, because I was kind of paranoid someone would burst in (though how I thought they would accomplish this with the door locked had clearly escaped me) and then there would be mayhem. I guess this is what I thought might unfold:

Person: “Uh, Rachelle? Are you okay? Whatcha doin’ down there? Sleeping?”

Me: “Um, hi. Yeah, I was just resting. I’m really tired today and thought I’d relax on my lunch break.”

Person: “Huh. Okay.” <<backs away slowly, thinking to him/herself that Rachelle is an odd girl>>

Hermes does not share my concerns about sleeping on office floors.

Clearly, it’s a good thing this great atrocity didn’t occur. After all, I work on the Health Promotion team: No one would ever understand something like taking a rest break at work… Oh, wait. Yes, yes they would.

I’m about to go to bed, but I felt like I needed to tell you about this thing that happened last Friday, in the name of current news. I’m all about being relevant and timely. So, I’m walking home from yoga, up Johnson Street, the street on which I reside, when I hear a dude singing. He is a Japanese guy, not that it makes any difference, apart from a mixed-up “r” and “l” now and then, but he is NOT a good singer. He is singing, nay—belting, I Just Haven’t Met You Yet, by Michael Bublé. This is a really good song. Not so much, however, when it’s being sung by someone who is tone deaf. And I mean he is REALLY giving it. For 4 very long blocks.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not complaining or making fun (okay, I’m making fun a little): this guy had me giggling the entire walk home, and I gotta say I admire his, um, tenacity.

I have to go to bed now because I can hear Adam snoring in the bedroom, which makes it hard for me to fall asleep. As long as I’m out first, it doesn’t bother me. But, since I’m still typing, I’m obviously not in bed.

Nighty night!

Actually, I remembered to blog, but then I forgot again. As the saying goes, it’s the thought that counts. And technically, during Lent, I’ve been blogging on Sundays, which counts for extra. Seriously, count the days between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday and you’ll count 46. That’s because Sundays are freebies. Check it out if you don’t believe me.

Today we held our first Health Fair, which was pretty cool. They did biometric testing and it looks like I’m doing okay. My cholesterol was high, which runs in the family, but my HDLs were really high, too, and they’re the good ones. The nurse said that she thought that it was probably my HDLs driving up the overall count. I’m gonna go with that.

Also, I taught yoga at noon, but didn’t have tons of students. In fact, instead of tons, I had 3. I have noticed that many people say they want to do yoga and recognize that yoga would be good for them, but the correlation between those comments and the number of classes they attend is pretty poor. There must be a confounding variable I’m not sure of…

On that note, I have to run, because I’m off to teach at Oak Bay Rec. One of eight! After tonight, seven more weeks until I am Doing Less. Four more weeks until I’m done InDesign, too. Doing Less is going to be so sweet. I wonder what I’ll do…

This is true. I just did a bunch this weekend, which was awesome. However, I’ve spent about 90 zillion hours working on business cards for Pacific Tattoo, and only JUST NOW discovered the “advanced editing” option on the site I’m using. Seriously. You guys, I spent about 5 hours getting really frustrated that it wasn’t an optional layout.

And with that, I’m going to bed. So there.

I don’t even know how I found this, but there are people out there who want to be mermaids so badly that they dress up with a monofin flipper and fake tail and then splash about with a dolphin kick.

What I enjoy about this product write-up (people make scrilla off of the tails, for real), is how it describes the tail as “much more realistic looking.” Um, you guys? A much more realistic-looking mermaid tail, as in a fake tail for a make-believe creature? I’m all for the fairytales, myself, but I’m not this far gone…

Seriously, friends. I couldn’t even make this stuff up. Well, actually, I could, but I swear I didn’t.  They have competitions and pageants and everything.

Am I the only one who wonders if a shark wouldn’t be more likely to bite a marauding—oops, I meant mermaiding—human? Because that’s pretty much the first thing I worried about. I mean, if the whole reason sharks bite people in the first place is because we confuse them with our sea-creature-like physique, then I would hardly be wanting to up the ante and look like a more convincing morsel.

What’s next? Unicorning?

Adam’s in Vancouver tonight, enroute to Seattle for his monthly coaching training for the weekend. I am taking the opportunity to unwind (a night in being made significantly easier by the lack of a vehicle). Tonight has been spent watching movies on Netflix that I probably shouldn’t watch on my own. I like Paul Bettany, so I watched Legion. Pretty gory and a little freaky, but it wasn’t a real horror/thriller, so I think I’ll be able to sleep. Maui seems to be doing okay though. Granted, she’s not facing the TV.

Me & the Mauster

I did go to yoga, though, so that’s good. I work from home most Fridays, which means it’s really easy for me to spend the day in sweatpants (hey, at least I change from my pajamas) and not venture out into the world at all. Actually, I went out twice: I went for a swim at lunch because I was way too comfortable to roll out of bed this morning.

So, what this boils down to is that I soaked in chlorine, then sweat it out at the studio. And, let me just say that chlorine is a better body odour to have than what is often floating around a yoga class. After the profuse sweating, I walked home to make dinner. I made dinner in shifts, eating it in the same manner. End result? I got too full and never made it to the roasted potatoes…

Now I’m watching a cheesy episodic from ’91 called “Dark Shadows.” It turns out it’s a remake of an earlier soap opera from the 60s and 70s. When I Googled it, I was interested to learn that apparently Tim Burton and Johnny Depp were fans, back in the day. I hope the original series wasn’t this bad… I also learned that they’re doing a remake film this year, starring Johnny Depp and directed by Tim Burton. It seems that dreams really do come true. At least Johnny Depp will make a much better Barnabas Collins.

I’ve also painted my nails (fingers and toes) and succeeded in messing up one fingernail. At least I’m consistent.

On that note, I’m off to watch episode 3. I should really just go to bed…

Tomorrow is Friday. I’m pretty pleased about it, actually. I’m probably not breaking a lot of new ground here, but pssst: Fridays are the bomb.

On Fridays, I celebrate by hitting the pool first thing in the a.m. Friday being a led-class day and all for Ashtangis, it’s the one weekday (apart from moon days) that I’m not practicing Mysore style in the wee hours.

I just reread that sentence and it made no sense at all. To you, I mean. It makes perfect sense to me. It’s a yoga thing. I’ll explain another day. Today, I’m too tired because Thursdays like to kick me in the gluteus maximus. I am über-grateful for the courses I get to take through my work, but after this one, I’m taking a time out, sending myself to the corner to stop and think about what I’ve done.

Anyway, yeah, the pool. Adam thinks it’s hilarious (maybe more like mildly amusing, but whatever) that I go to the pool and proclaim to love swimming, because I get so annoyed and stressed out by it. The thing is, I’m not annoyed by swimming, I’m annoyed with the morons with whom I have to share the lanes. Because I’m the only one doing any sharing. The rest of these splashers clearly didn’t graduate from kindergarten and were only released because they were dragging down the averages. They certainly didn’t get bumped up for good behaviour.

It is not rocket science. You know what? That’s a stupid phrase. What is rocket science, apart from rocket science? That’s like saying “It’s not chocolate,” when it’s labelled vanilla. Gee, you think? Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Begging your pardon: I digress. Allow me to return to the gross indignity of sharing a swimming lane with someone who is being lapped by those wading in the extremely-slower-than-not-moving slow lane. I’m a little worried that these people drive vehicles on the roads I, too, drive upon. Why, you ask? Well, let me tell you: They don’t know which lane they’re in, what “slow” or “moderate” mean, they tailgate and they cut in. They’re RUDE. And there is no excuse. What’s confusing to me is what they would do if I just did what they were doing. I think they’d erupt into a chlorinated, spleen-damaging indignation. They’d be shaking their fins, bug-eyed (okay, that’s probably because of the goggles, but still. Still.) and yelling out, “HEY! I’m swimmin’ heee-yah!” Yes, they are all New Yorkers by this point. Don’t ask me why.

I would like to delve deeper into this worthy topic, providing anecdotes from my countless personal experiences (Just wait until you hear the one about the change room. You’ll need an adult. I sure did.). But, it’s late and I’m tired. I’m likely to mix up my examples and throw in something about the instant IQ hit suffered by anyone except myself at Costco/Walmart/<<insert the name of any store that offers shopping carts>>. “No, really. That’s a great place to leave your cart.”

So, I’ll hit you back on this one soon. Splish splash and all that jazz.