We are SO still best friends. LUCKY US!
P.S. we need a new look. That purple was making me gag. Any requests? If someone can send me a new pic I'll photo shop something if noone else wants to. All my pics have been buried in storage since I moved to New York (UG!) ... But you can do it if you want.
CIARA- that lake does look cold! Was it?
I can't believe I forgot to share the good news. My bedroom is no longer bright blue! Did I really think, as moody as I am, that I could commit? At least now I can switch up the bedding constantly! Thanks again, Brandino.
We went camping and boating with Herb's family over Labor Day weekend. We drove to Prineville Resevoir which is about 3 hours southeast of us. We had a great time. The only thing Herb would let me do is ride the tube with Sage. This baby is cramping my style and my waistline:) 
Oh how I wish I was there this morning! We had to cancel last minute. Andrea got a new house, Cara's working a ton and the you-know-what really hit the fan around here for myself in the last weeks. We were too late to even sell our race places, which were $60 a piece. And too late to get the money back from the house we rented. I talked the owner into getting a little more back than her cancellation policy but we still paid $600 for absolutely nothing... her house is sitting there empty and she made $$$. Her calendar says it's booked this week now, too! So she's making double the money from replacement renters! Have a heart lady. I'd do it for you, stranger.
We were staying here. Right now I 'd be hauling my behind up that mountain and later I'd have a turkey and avocado on an everything from here. And tomorrow I wouldn't be able to walk.
Nothing compares to the run down off that mountain. It's like a roller coaster. I'm longing for it. And I miss Telluride. Ah well, perhaps next year, my dearest IPR?
I am loving Travelin'Oma's blog and inspiration.
It inspired today's assignment:
I was unzipping my little girl's sweatshirt when I took note of her icy fingers and toes. She wasn't hot and in need of losing a layer. I was. I've noticed I do this often. I call it projecting, though I don't know if that's quite what that term means or not. No matter, it's natural to project what I am feeling to her. If I am sweaty, she must be as well. If I am cold, likely she is too.
I think we see in people what we are. And when we don't, we're shocked. I see the world not through rose-tinted lenses but through my own eyeballs. Distorted? Not to me.
Hawthorne's Great Stone Face, I think, is whatever one projects onto its expression. Ernest became noble because he was born noble, and worked all his life perfecting such. Ernest saw in the face what he valued. Someone else could have seen something different. Perhaps even power or control and become just that. To me, Hawthorne's Great Stone Face represents our ideals. We become our ideals.
_____
I value kindness, compassion, humor, goodness. And will work all my life perfecting such. Isn't it good news? Isn't it the farthest reach of optimism and good attitude to believe we will eventually become exactly what we want to be? This is positive thinking.
I am positively sure of who I am. And who I am not. Say what you will, world. Come and go. I feel grounded. I feel powerful. I feel strong.
I will not let others control me. Or my own negative thoughts. I affirm to myself aloud, "I am a good mother." "I am a good person." "I'm doing what's right for my family." I have lately had to stand very strong. And I did it. And I'm doing it. And guess what? I am so very proud of that.
I want to become the perfected version of what I see in The Great Stone Face.
I want to see the goodness in everyone else's face.
I want to project positivity and goodness to the world,
onto every face I see, stone or otherwise.
I choose to see the good, even in myself.
I choose a positive attitude.
I choose everything.
_____
How am I actually supposed to become my ideals? Does it just happen? Is it magic? I think it happens just like it did for Ernest in Hawthorne's story. I think Ernest became what he saw in the face because he spent his life
looking for those things in others.
Sage started her first violin lesson today. I have always loved the violin so I decided that I wanted her to play. We shall see how it goes. The teacher said she did excellent for her first day.
What a big day, not only did she start violin, but she started school today too. Her first day of Kindergarten. Why do they have to grow up so fast? I am going to miss having her around. I told her that and she said that I would be okay because I still had Herbie:) I thought I would cry but Herbie beat me to it and wouldn't stop. He even climbed on the bus and I had to go on and get him. He wanted to go with his sister so bad. I carried him in the house and he screamed at the top of his lungs and then he ran back outside after the bus had gone and ran all the way to the corner crying. He cried for a good 15 minutes and I finally just put him down for a nap. He really loves his big sister!
Sage playing soccer. She wont' play unless she gets to wear a skirt. She looks so cute, how can I resist allowing it. So many people compliment her when she shows up. Luckily, it has underwear attached.
My friend, Rachel made me pose for this special shot. Now I have a picture of me at 5 months pregnant. So for all of you who have been wondering how I look. This is it!Today's assignments, from Travelin'Oma.
I spent a week this summer with my family on our favorite plot of sand. I've been basking in the sand there since, well, the womb. But this time was different. I felt beautiful. In a swim suit. It was the darndest thing.
It really shouldn't make sense. It's just not logical. I didn't feel this great thirty pounds ago. Or ten years ago. Not even when my rock hard body was rehearsing Pas de Dix eight hours a day. I am (or was at least!) a ballet dancer. I couldn't help but stare in the mirror and compare myself to Kenna. She was perfect. One thing I've always liked is my height. But Kenna had it too. She also did her hair in this amazing french roll for class. I envied the way she wore her dainty little earrings atop her long neck. And she was nice, too. How dare she!
But here I was... basking, frolicking, jumping in the waves and bouncing from sea to shining sea. I don't know what it was that finally clicked inside my head. I think ultimately, it was a choice. I decided I would choose to feel free and beautiful. I decided I would let it all fly. I decided tomorrow may never come. I also realized that nobody cares. Nobody cares! Nobody cares about my muffin top, real or imaginary. They just want to enjoy my company, laugh with me, bask in the sun.
Let me tell you: it was wonderful. I wasted not one minute of the beautiful week tucking and pulling or covering up. Instead, I laid back in the sand. I never combed my salty hair. I got goosebumps drying in the sun. I got goosebumps because I felt like a goddess.
Surely, the process isn't complete. I am still trying to reconcile the photos from the trip. Wait! (I WAS SHOCKED!) That's not what I looked like that week! I was goddess of wind, sand, sea and salt... and that... well that, I'm afraid, is a sea hag.
Oh well, onward and upward. All in it's own time. If this is what aging is: to feel more comfortable and more confident by the day, then I can't wait. It feels really, really good. I like me. I think I'm beautiful.
_________________________________________
Dear friend,
I know you're worried about everyone under the sun. You feel responsible for everyone's happiness and success. Knowing you like I do, I know you will continue to feel responsible no matter how much you tell yourself others are responsible for their own happiness. But I trust your instincts. Maybe you are responsible for some of it, too. Maybe part of your job on earth is to be responsible for their happiness. I trust you will let go when the time is right. I trust your instincts. You seem like you always figure it out. You seem like you always do the right thing. Others' choices are not yours. You seem... like you know that.
Happy Birthday to Brandon!
Just what, exactly, does one gift The Professor for his 33rd birthday?
Why this, of course. If I'm not mistaken, I remember Brandon trying to prove the conjecture in his spare time, scribbling in a notebook. Oh, and two $4.50 hanes pocket tees from Walmart. Yes, that's two. I like to go all out, you know.
Today's TravelinOma assignment.
Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato is that they set at naught books and traditions, and spoke not what men, but what they thought. A man should learn to detect that gleam of light that flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.
(I first read this paragraph when I was sixteen. I carried a tattered copy of Ralph Waldo Emmerson's Essays the way the preteens carry their copy of Twilight through middle school halls... tucked up tight, close to the heart, like it was the world's last copy and they alone will see it to Mordor.)
Yes! Yes, that's exactly how I feel! That's exactly what I've been thinking while reading all of these essays! Emmerson's words about thoughts of others coming back to us with a certain alienated majesty was at that instant coming back to me with a certain alienated majesty! I had thought this just moments before and here it was on the page. But he wrote it down, over a century ago. It was deja-vu. It was infinite regression. I was dreaming in a dream of a dream of a dream.
_________
Thoreau the spinster-poet. In the year 1850, when Henry reached the age of thirty-three, Emily Dickinson in nearby Amherst became twenty. Somebody should have brought the two together. They might have hit it off. I imagine this scene, however, immediately following the honeymoon:
EMILY (raising her pen)
Henry, you haven't taken out the garbage.
HENRY (raising his flute)
Take it out yourself.
-Edward Abbey, Down the River
Edward Abbey's Down the River is another book I tuck up tight, close to my heart. HENRY, in this excerpt is Henry David Thoreau. He and Emily Dickinson could have hit it off, right? Soul mates even? Well, this excerpt comically shouts, NO! No existential poet, philosopher, romantic will ever find true union. This thought came back to me with a certain alienated majesty. I recognize in Abbey's writing my own loneliness. I recognize in Abbey himself, my own eternal loneliness.
I know who I married and I knew what I was doing when I did it. And I love him more than anything. I even love him for his oblivion to me, of my strandedness. I really believe he's the world's last good man.
I struggled a lot in early adulthood, grappling with this. I clamored around everyone, trying to reach their core. I tried to connect with everyone on the level I wanted. I tried and tried and ultimately gave up. Thoreau chose isolation. Abbey chose rivers. I chose someone I truly appreciate and love. Totally soul-fulfilling? No. Is anything? We get what we can get. Still sometimes, I wonder if I couldn't do just as well wandering my canyon alone.
_______
Those who love it call it "The Canyon"---the canyon--- as if there were no other such topographical feature on the earth's face.
... Meanwhile, there it is, in my own backyard, waiting for me all these millions of years--- the Canyon. I am tempted to write "my canyon," so possessive can that place make on feel. But the canyon is not mine, nor anyone's; the Canyon belongs to us all- and to no one...
...To know the Canyon is to love it? Not necessarily. Crawling up the Tanner Trial some moonlight night in August, without food or water, you will hate the canyon. Bitterly. That pale rim so far above, higher than five Empire State Buildings piled one upon another, seems inaccessible as heaven, remote as salvation. But if you survive, if you make it, you learn not to despise the Canyon but your own fear and foolishness, in being unprepared and return again and again...
... To die in the act of love- every lover's fondest fantasy...
... Even so I hope now, as I have always hoped, that my own last vision, through fading eyes, will not be a window in a strange room, nor even the face of friend or lover, but the spectacle of distant canyon walls, the profile of a mesa against the sky, the gleam of a river far below. Those are the things I want to take with me in my dying moments, if I too must die, and taking them with and within me, all the way, become a part of them.
-Edward Abbey, Down the River.
The Canyon brings me as close as I can get to the last good man alive. He loves it too. Yet like some sick triangle, my jealousy says I love the canyon more than he does. He loves it like money, a means to an end. I love its very fabric, the way it crinkles up when thrown in the wash, then dries crisp in the sun.
I recently handed him my Down the River copy to read. He and Precious took things downstairs for an hour, me feeling jealous all the while, then returned.
BRANDON (gesturing with book)
I think it's good but I don't really get it. I don't have a big enough... what do you call it when there are a lot of big words?
ALANA (furrowing her brow)
Vocabulary?
They didn't even make it to first base... in an hour! I thought our passion for canyons and rivers stood a good chance of building a bridge. But he handed it back. I write it off as another tributary canyon of my soul he will never explore, enjoy, feel the fabric of. I return repeatedly to desert. To wind. To rock.
And that's okay. Abbey understands. I told my Mom once that the Grand Canyon was My Canyon. She laughed and said my father called the Mojave, "Alan's desert." My dad, the drag-ass land surveyor with sand in his blood, understood. The lonely understand. The only problem is, we'll never connect. Only briefly through words and books and poems and second-hand stories of our dead fathers.
...But this is morbid, idle talk. Better to think DO NOT LITTER, neither the Canyon nor the trails, with gum wrappers, beer cans, emergency underwear, frazzled socks, or the bodies of worn-out decrepit useless literary romantics seeking a picturesque death with a view. Dead bodies sprawled along the Hermit Trail would soon become a public nuisance, leading to more Park Service regulations. PERMIT REQUIRED FOR DYING HERE. ADVANCE RESERVATIONS NECESSARY. Therefore let us be discreet, considerate of others, and do our untidy final business well away from any trail, on some little pinched-out dead end ledge where only the lizards will ever find you.
Seeking true unity with a human being has become a personal nuisance. Discreetly and considerate of the Last Good Man, I do my untidy business here. In black on white. Hoping someone is reading. Hoping someone will recognize their own rejected thoughts returning to them with a certain alienated majesty. Hoping someone will understand.
Today's TravelinOma prompt:
-List ten places you'd like to go someday. Write a paragraph about your ideal type of trip. Prompt: "I don't like to _____ when I'm on vacation. I go away so I can _____."
First, let's tackle the obvious. I don't like to bring the kid when I'm on vacation. I go away so I can have sex whenever I want... and that, audibly.
My ideal vacation is simply any vacation not afloat at sea, imprisoned with slobivius americanus. I'm talking to you, Cruise Ship. A cruise is so unappealing to me that I'm prepared to make a list of ten things I'd rather do than board the Love Boat.
1. Stay home.
2. Swallow a chainsaw.
3. Hard Labor in North Korea with Ling.
4. I've always liked coal mines.
5. Give Kim Jong-il (Lil' Kim) a pedicure.
6. Give my father-in-law a pedicure.
7. Skip my own pedicure.
8. Babysit the Duggars.
9. Be a Duggar.
10. Eat the FDA's recommended 8-10 servings of fruits and vegetables a day.
Cruise ships are a virtual petri dish of communicable disease afloat at sea. At sea! Do you know what happens at sea? ... Hurricanes, walls of water that swallow ships whole, sinking. Sinking! I said sinking! If I managed to return home it could be with hoof and mouth, meningitis, staphylococcus, and most certainly an exacerbated case of claustrophobia. Where do they store the buffet food? How is human waste treated, stored or expelled? Have you asked yourself these questions?
Possibly, I could make good use of the gambling available while in international waters. Or the 24 hour bar. And if you watch Primetime Crime, you know you can throw just about anybody overboard and get away with it. (Increase husband's policy, check.) This is as far as my exploding optimism can throw me.
I don't like to suffer and/or die when I'm on vacation. I go away so I can come back.
Dear Alana,
I commented on your why blog post. Movie night please... will it include our run-of-the meal afraid of change pre-movie salad and cup cake?
Dear Ciara,
I miss you. It has been much too long. How on earth do you have kids that old... and I've been thinking of you taking care of your mom and wondering if there is something I can do to lighten your load.
Dear Paul,
Did you fall off the face of the earth?
Dear Quinn,
I hope it took. I still do. Even now. And you're hot and let's quit work and live in Europe selling paintings or poems or something.
My first assignment: Write a blog post about why you have a blog.
From here.
Posted by: Alana
I recently asked my brother-in-law why he didn't just beat me over the head with the thing. The Tivo, that is. He and my sister had been trying to gift me their old Tivo for a year. It even came to my house, got hooked up, and I was given the remote tutorial. Still. I was resistant to change. We have a satellite dish now and my dual-tuner DVR and I couldn't be happier or more in love. I continually thank my brother-in-law for doing what he had to do. I thank him for his tough love, for slapping me until I swallowed my medicine.
Similarly, my friends and I used to publish the JNAC Chronicles. Everyone had a month assigned to create the newsletter. Yes, we typed, printed, folded, stamped and mailed! What a chore! Nicole (the N) mentioned for years she had a blog that I should visit. I didn't really know what a blog was or want to make the effort to find out. Finally, she shoved it all down our throats by turning or out-of-gas newsletter into a group blog, the JNAC Chronicles. We all post on this blog and I couldn't be happier or more in love with it. That's us up top. Also note the visual addendum, Paul. We'll get to him later.
I blog because I like the audience. This audience of best friends, in particular, is nice. (They are unshockable, I think, allowing me to drop phrases like "naked and howling at the moon.") But just knowing anyone is reading compels me to write.
Consider: When was the last time you talked out loud to yourself?
I talk to myself when I am alone in the desert. Perhaps tripping on a rock I'll shout, "Son of a (bite tongue)... motherless goat!" I talked to myself last week while trying to take a scratchy tag out of a shirt with a seam ripper... "Mother (bite tongue)... may I!" When talking to myself, I don't expound. I keep it short and... sweet? I'm already in here, in my head.
I hate writing in a journal. I utterly refuse to do it! If I'm giong to write about my life or my day or brag about my child, I have just got to have an audience. I cherish my time alive on earth; it's short and precious. If I am going to take ten whole minutes to expound anything, it better damn well serve my vanity.
OK- one hour ago I was flying high- things under my belt- smiling at will...
Now I'm in the deepest LONGEST darkest depression. I want to run away and never come back. I feel like jumping out of my own skin- like I'm in my own personal Prison D'if.
Let me explain: IT ALL STARTED WITH YOUNG WOMENS.
I got called to YM as Laural adviser- not really bumbed about, but then again I haven't had to do anything yet until our first meeting tonight. It's not even YW that has me shoveling in the cookie dough right now...
We just got back from SLC and made a stop at IKEA. SO fun- I was thinking of all sorts of ways I could use IKEA to spruce up some crapy apartment and make it livable for the next few years until we could aford a house. I was actually getting excited- like it was a challenge I couyld gain some real satisfaction in tackeling.
I was OK having gone to 10 years of school and working by fingers to the bone at school and making/having no money. I was fine thinking $$$ does not matter to me and I don't need it, and my husband is really hot and I'm happy no matter what we don't have...
Then I went to this young womens meeting and saw them all.
The other advisors and leaders.
They were coming from houses and had keys to SUV's.
They were complaining of dirty dishes and unmade beds.
They were taking notes on where they lived in comparison to eachother.
They belonged.
They were settled.
They new so and so
and what's her name
and, didn't she teach my daughter in miamaids ten years ago?
They knew where they were going to be living next month.
They had been pulling sweaters out of their basements every Fall for the last 7 Falls.
They had been pulling underwear out of the same drawers every morning for the last forever mornings.
They were going to refill soaps next week
and buy a costco card next month.
They were going to drive home to their home tonight, and tomorrow, and next year(s).
They had garage door openers
and justified addiction to HDTV.
Most of all- they were there as tghey had been there and would be there.
They belonged.
They haven't been living out of suitcases for a year
Their stuff hasn't been in storage more than half of thier mariage.
They haven't forgotten where the Christmas sweaters are or which place you put this or that.
----------------------------------------------
I'm not saying fate has dealt us a raw deal. On the contrary. I still believe we have it great. I don't think we have had bad luck. I don't blame our suitcases on anyone or any market.
I AM NOT A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCE.
...
...
....
I'm just depressed.
(you can tell, because I'm not even going to proof read)
Thanks to the August Visiting Teaching message (yes, I've had a VT dry spell but I'm back in the saddle again- ridin' high, ridin' high!), I am going to take part in this. I could really use a distraction to stave off depression. Maybe you should sign up, too? Anyways, if it's not lame and I decide to really take part, then come tomorrow morning I guess there will be a new post from me every weekday for the next 12 weeks.
Yeah right. We all know me. How many days you think I'll last? Bets? We all know how many times I dropped out of college at the very last hour I could get my tuition refunded. How many semesters did I load up my books and ride my little $99 bike over to Dixie and sell them back? Too many to count. My inner siren says I might quit. It also says this thing could turn out to be super lame. Stay tuned.
Herbie hated this ride. It was too fast and scary for him. Sage loved it and went a 2nd time.
Taking after their Dad!
This is my favorite shot. They both look so happy. I can't help but smile when I look at it. We found out yesterday that we are having a girl. I was convinced it was a boy but I was wrong. Sage is so excited to have a little sister and we are happy with whatever we get.
No fair- I POST ON HERE TO- it's just that school started and you can not possibly imagine how completely and totally wretched it is for about a month and 1/2. Don't I get some sort of "bye" for August and January?
check out Janna's blog today, Wish.
allmodern.com offered the blog a giveaway.
sign your sorry self up.
For Family Home Evening on Monday night we took the kids miniature golfing. This was Herbie's first time and it was hilarious to watch him putt putt. He tried to swing the club at the ball like a bat. We steered clear of him. He also kept picking up our balls or running right in front of what would have been a perfect hit:) Sage surprised us all with A HOLE IN ONE on one of the holes. Herb and I didn't even come close. I think I got a 5 on that hole. You can see my little pregnant belly really good in the last photo of us sitting by hole 18. 5 months along and we find out what we are having in 5 days. Remember, if you click on the pics below they should open up larger in a new window so you can see them better.
Sage has been taking swimming lessons this summer. We have been going everyday for two weeks straight and it is amazing how much she has improved. She definitely has the best form out of any of the students when it comes to diving. She always has a big grin on her face because she loves it so much even when she does a belly flop she comes up smiling. I love to watch her. Since we live in Oregon, we have class rain or shine. The only difficult part is keeping Herbie at bay. He really wants to get in and constantly throws any toy he can find into the pool.
Below are pictures from our ward campout. We camped in downtown Vernonia equivalent to Orderville or some other small town in Utah:) The weather wasn't perfect and its sprinkled a little bit but we had a great time. We brought our bikes and the kids rode their bikes on the bike trail. We even got a free tractor ride by a local farmer. He stopped on this bridge long enough to tell us that this is where they hold the annual lawn mower races. LOL! You'll notice that in one of the pictures Herbie is crying because we made him give up his bike for 5 minutes for another friend to ride it. Good times!
Since you are the only one that posts to this blog, we need you to come back and grace us with your presence.
I'm out.
Another year that Brandon can't go on my family vacation with us! What a total bummer. Especially because Anika is old enough to really appreciate the beach and he's going to miss it all... he has to stay and work. Also: our car broke again! With all the car repairs I have charged to a card, I could have bought a new car by now. So my Mom is renting us a big ol' Ford Taurus, baby. This is where I will be for the next 8 days. Cara's Newport place is quite tiny so she rented us this place in San Clemente. And we'll be spending our days on the family plot. No, not that one- our beach plot just down from my Grandma's old house.
AND. If the plan works out, we are going to take the passenger Amtrak down to Sea World one of the days. Anika is going to freak out... excitement, horror, you name it.
AND. I just found out the rental has a crib. When my Mom told me, I literally crumbled to my knees in delight and shouted for joy. It's still going to be a nightmare dealing with the little princess but access to a crib might take the edge off.
Brandon (bless his heart) has been trying to talk me into mirrored backsplash for years now. (Molten glass runs through his veins.) I tell him he is crazy because he wants everything mirrored. And with beveled strips, of course. He also wants a huge, totally-out-of-line fish tank. I try to imagine what our house would look like if I let him go ape crazy on it. I imagine a 1980's party house complete with a mirrored tabletop where we would sort our fashionably-80's coke... Brandon's Bevel-Stripped Palace of Dreams.
But then I saw this and am thinking perhaps he wasn't totally crazy about the mirrored backsplash. I don't think it could work in our house but it sure does in those photos. But then again, I don't really want to see my muffin-top looking back at me while I bake. (umm, while I take the pepperidge farm coconut cake out of the box.)
Who am I to talk about the 1980's anyways? I've embraced them once again. I'm wearing a gold, digital casio these days. You heard me. Digital. And beyond skinny jeans, I pegged the other week. I tell you, I'm all but a breath away from doubling up my jazzercize socks over my stirrup stretch pants.
This is Anika's new obsession which, thankfully, has replaced jumping on the mixing bowls. Since this video, her new words she practices are 'Janna', 'Mike', and 'Emmet'. (I think she wants them to adopt her!) Also: 'dog', 'bus' and 'frog'. She also requests to learn some strange words... "I wanna type poop, Mom. I wanna type nugget poop." The funniest is that she knows where and what the comma, apostrophe, dash, 'flower' (asterisk), bracket, equal, and the semicolon are.
I'm thinking of hiring her to take care of all my desk work, bills, e-mails. That's assuming I wouldn't be breaking any child labor laws. And I'd have to get her one of those keyboards that prevent carpal tunnel syndrome. And a cushy, swivel office chair... with a booster seat. Perhaps a headset to take calls?
Ciara, I came across some of your words of wisdom in my Journal of Summer. Dated July 1998:
Usually most normal, boring people set their beeping, obnoxious alarm clocks for an exact time like, for instance 7:00 a.m.- 7:30 a.m. never an uneven number but Alana and I use a rooster alarm clock and set it on all weird #'s 7:02 for example. During those extra 2 minutes of sleep a lot could happen. You could finish a dream or finish the good parts. It's a rule not to set it on the hour.
-Ciara's words of wisdom.
(yes, you even wrote Ciara's words of wisdom.)
As you might expect, I rarely set an alarm because Anika wakes me up bright and early. But sometimes, perhaps leaving early for vacation or other rare events, I set it. And I still set it to random times. I physically can't bring myself to set a clock for 6:00. But 6:07 just feels better. Ciara, do you also still have this disease? Are you still setting alarms for weird times? What about sleeping with a pea underneath your mattress? Tell me you've broken that habit!
