2! 2! 2 Posts in 1!

Let me begin with a slightly funny post which you might need to read again after the second post just... well just because. My sleeping issues have continued most of the week with the highlight being tuesday night. Tuesday, Mr. Darcy was working on computer things so he stayed up later than I did. I had a bit of a problem getting to sleep but finally nodded off. Several hours later, I vaguely remember sitting up for a second then dozed off to wake up a couple of minutes later, then wake up and see Mr. Darcy coming into the room and shutting the door and then getting in bed and saying "Let's not do that again tonight, okay?" [Get you minds out of the gutter]. Later still I vaguely remember turning over and asking Mr. Darcy if he was ok.

The next day I found out that the missing pieces in that puzzle were this. I went to bed. Mr. Darcy later comes to bed. An hour or so after that I sit straight up in bed, stare at our open bedroom door, and "loud enough for the neighbors to hear" yell "Who's there?!" lie back down and fall asleep (or continue sleeping as the case may be) so Mr. Darcy goes to investigate. Finds nothing. Then comes in and decides after the last two days of shenanigans that we now sleep with the door closed.

I am now terrified I will do something like this when I fall asleep on the train. As it stands on wednesday on my way home I nodded off around Crystal City and when we cross the Potomac (which entails coming above ground) I thought I had missed something and that I was at my stop (which is the first above ground on the red line). And all somehow without changing trains. And I was momentarily confused why it looked so different. No reports of whether I shouted though.

Story #2.
I recommend you don't read this while eating.

Yesterday's commute home sucked. It's about 200000 degrees Celsius outside and I get to Gallery Place only to hear that Dupont Circle, Adams Morgan and Cleveland Park are all closed due to a suspicious package (what has to be the largest suspicious package ever to close all 3 stops) and basically if you want to get past that you're fucked. That's what "shuttle services available" means in metro talk. So I call Mr. Darcy for internet support (although I keep cutting out and he has little to no idea what I'm trying to ask) hop on a train nonetheless and go one stop to Metro Center. Now on this train I had somehow managed to get a seat but got up from that seat and decided that I'd go the other way to Wheaton which is close to Mr. Darcy's office. Brilliant. No. I get off the one train, call Mr. Darcy and update him, go to the other side of the tracks and less than a minute later they announce the stations are now open. Crap. Back to the first side of the tracks and now it's a 7 minute wait to the next train. The next train comes and we pack in there. I get no seat and am sandwiched between large people. It's very hot, needless to say, but I have my ipod on and keep my spirits up... finally get home after an hour and a half of traveling make it to the stairs to that bring me to my street and trip and BUST THE FUCK OUT OF MY TOE. I trip in my stupid fucking sandals look down and all the skin on the top of my toe is hanging off and the top of the nail is splayed out like a barn door. Fuck fuck fuck. My fucking shoe is filling with blood. All has gone to hell. I use the lamaze/yoga breathing which is basically the same to TRY and calm down. Lots of low chanting to myself "ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok". Finally dig the fucking keys out of my bag, get inside, drop my shit everywhere, and hobble to the bathroom. Can't find the stopper to the tub. Now i'm chanting "fuck fuck fuck" interspersed with my "ok ok ok ok ok ok"s hobble to the kitchen grab a plastic bag, momentarily stop at the Jameson's for 2 fingers , hobble back to the bathroom shove the bag down the drain and fill the tub with 4 inches of soapy water. The Jameson's is, of course, my TV knowledge coming to the forefront. What did Dr. Quinn use to calm people? Well, dumb bitch probably used laudanum but I know for damn sure Al Swearengen
grabbed the whisky for all medical purposes on Deadwood. Cocksucker. So standing in the bath tub still chanting to myself, still deep breathing, and this continues for about 5 minutes until I decide to call my mom. Who is at dinner and hears the whole tale and just tries to be really calming but ever since my mom told me to lie back with a bloody nose in the 4th grade her medical expertise has been in question. (In that case I made her give me water to drink to try and cover up the taste of blood in my throat and go get the child rearing book to look it up b/c i KNEW you did not lie down). I lean down to cut away the big ole flap of skin (trying not to look at the nail [impossible]) with my wee manicure scissor and right before my shaking hands make contact I question the logistics of this mission. So more pacing in the tub and I call OJ who was a girl scout and a girl scout counselor and her dad's a doctor (x-ray or something) and mom used to be a nurse so i figure there's some training and some genetics there. She advises to clean it the best I can, leave the skin, dry it out and lather it up with neosporin and bandage the hell out of it. Which I do. Then get 2 more fingers of Jamesons and watch Spaceballs on the couch. This is what Mr. Darcy comes home to. Mr. Darcy was not called in this debacle because I didn't need to go to the hospital and didn't want him rushing home because that would just worry me.

So toe is busted. On the way to dinner we (shockingly) learn I'm now drunk and at least it's an interesting drive.

It was hard to fall asleep but - I'm telling you - yoga/lamaze breathing is where it's at. I am currently waiting for the white waterlogged skin to dry out before I re-later with neosporin and bandage this bad boy up.

So that is why I was not responding to your comments online last night, and, no, I do not have the gout.