Travels in Cognition

The attitude I may or may not have consistently shown to my husband regarding his geekery in all things...well, geek-ish (think comic books, RPGs, action figures, fascination with archaic languages not to mention archaic British science fiction television shows)...may or may not have thus far bordered on pure scorn.

That has now changed, in light of my awful realization this morning. Here's how it went down:

Me, driving: laughs

Him: What?

M: Oh, I was thinking about how I am so looking forward to seeing two Juliets this winter!

H: Two? Who's the second?

M: Your unborn daughter, duh!

H: Uh, then who's the first?

M: You know? The one that comes 39 days before our Juliet? What I've been waiting for since May 22, 2009????

H: Uggggggggggggggg. Groan. You've GOT to be kidding me.

M: That's why I was laughing in the first place; I knew what your reaction would be!

H: Anyway, isn't she dead? *see footnote*

M: Well, you see, that's where the time paradox comes in because if the bomb was never detonated, then none of that would have happened, ergo, she's alive! In one scenario anyway. They're at least going to show some of what would have happened had the plane never crashed because all these original characters are coming back and I've even seen the set photos of Claire being pregnant and Boone being there, and... Herein continues a long convoluted diatribe, the likes of which I will spare you--you're welcome--but suffice it to say I was pretty much the only one talking the whole six-mile drive.

And that's when my awful realization came upon me.

I am just as big a geek as he is.

Okay, maybe more.



*I realize some of my faithful readers have not yet finished Season 5. I left these spoilers in white, for those who wish not to find out what happens in the very last scene of that season. For those who would like to read it, simply highlight the text.

For those who have no idea which Season 5 I speak of, much less who is this Juliet #1 who is showing up approximately 39 days before our own...go ahead and highlight the text. You'll still be as confused as ever.*

Honestly, I swore I'd never write about how I had nothing to write about. But here I am, entirely and utterly uninspired. Not really for lack of things to write about--I could talk about how really great homeschooling is going and how this year is shaping up to be the best one yet, I could talk about places I have been recently and how a trip on my own could have ended badly (it did) but how it didn't matter because of the love of two wonderful friends--hi Jackie and Annie! I could talk about my new camera, which I haven't used yet because I can't afford any lenses for it right now and probably won't for quite some time, or I could speculate about current events, or how and why the loss of the leader of an organization I am not even a member of has affected me so deeply. I could ruminate about planning for the holidays, the various organizational or schedu-al (which is a new word I've made up) systems I've been embarking on, the resurgence of my spiritual "groove", how Baby Girl J is doing, or about our disgusting 6-legged home invaders...

But I'm just so dang uninspired.

So the other night we ordered a Jumbo pizza from Godfather's. And I mean, this pizza is so huge that our entire family of five could only eat half the pizza for supper that night (well, we did have potato wedges to go with it). No problem, right, I figured the outside-the-home worker could take a couple pieces to work for lunch the next day and the kids and I could have the rest for lunch at home.

Next day, 12:30 p.m., it is much later than we usually eat lunch because school had gone a bit long. The children were about to destroy each other out of hunger and I'm about to pass out from not eating in five hours. It would be so very simple to just throw the pizza in the microwave, plop a bag of baby carrots on the table, and immediately satiate myself and the beasts.

Except that when I ran upstairs and opened the refrigerator...THERE WAS NO PIZZA. So I called dear husband--surely this was a mistake, he would never take all the pizza to work leaving the rest of his family to waste away in the middle of the day, right? Well, his phone went straight to voicemail and I rapidly deduced that this was indeed what had happened. So I did what any self-respecting pregnant woman would do in this situation--I sent the following text message:

JERK!!!! You took all my pizza DAMMIT!!!!! (sad face emoticon followed by mad face emoticon followed by red-faced horned emoticon followed by six more sad emoticons followed by three green-faced puking emoticons)

Then I sat down and cried. Cried, for the loss of an easy lunch preparation. Cried, because of high-pitched shrieking and wailing of the hungry clamor of the beasts. Cried, for the health and safety of my dear husband..because who knew just what kind of damage I might inflict on him when he returned home that night.

So anyway, I figured that message would convey the gist of my feelings, and I expected a response full of remorse and shame. Except shortly thereafter I received this on my phone:

Ha ha! That was hilarious! I'm totally saving this one for posterity. (grinning face emoticon)

Later I found out a bunch of coworkers also thought this was hilarious. Why do people think a pregnant, hungry, raving lunatic is so funny, I ask you?

Did I mention I'm having food issues lately?

So Middle Child was helping me make the bed yesterday morning. Oldest Child, feeling the need to put little sister in her place, was taunting her with math problems. The following is recreation is how it all went down:

H: You don't know what 1+1 equals.

E: I do too.

H: You don't know that it equals 2. I learned that in first grade and you don't even know that yet. Ha!

E: Slams the door in Oldest Child's face.

Then commences the putting on of pillows on my bed.

E: Only in Hannah-Hannah-La-La Land that equals 2!

Rolls eyes.

I have long believed that an addictive habit of reading can be toxic. Generally, though, this belief stems from allowing myself to be sucked in to a very good book. The more believable the characters are, the more exciting the plot, the more well-written the story...it all correlates to the amount of time I spend both reading the book and mulling the book over in my mind while not reading, and thus the less appealing everyday tasks seem in relation.

Which all translates into: My house gets really messy and the kids yell at me to put down the stinking book and make them some food. Can you believe these gall of these beasts, wanting to be fed every day or something?

So anyhoo, that's not really what I want to warn you about this time. No, I'm here today to warn you of this simple fact: If you do not put the book down at night--if you decide to just finish off the last 400 or so pages of your 600- or so -page book--after turning the last page, you will look out your bedroom window and it will be light outside. Then you will sleep half the day away, thanking your lucky stars the other adult in the house is home that day. Which will probably lead to not being able to sleep again the next night, eventually giving up and deciding to blog about the sheer insanity of it all at 3:25 a.m.



Tomorrow night (or would that be tonight?) -- Tylenol PM.

An insomnia-inspired blast from the past can be found here.