You're a student in southern Ontario during the early '90s, and you haven't yet learned moderation. After a crazy night out with friends, you come home at 3am, and you feel like you're going a bit insane: the room is spinning, you feel spectacularly ill, you're exhausted, but your brain is running laps around your spectacularly-abused body. There's nobody you can talk to, there's no way to distract yourself...where do you turn?
Global TV's "Night Moves."
Somewhere in Toronto, a cameraman with a steadycam walked slowly through streets, subways, and deserted buildings. Sometimes you'd be in a car driving through the main streets and back roads of the city. No narrative, no structure, just some smooth jazz and a vicarious trip through the deserted city.
WHAT A GREAT IDEA. I'm sure it was conceived primarily as a cheap way to fill the early hours with Canadian content, but I (and many, many others) viewed "Night Moves" as a life-saver.
It's still fabulous, and has the added bonus of being a time capsule for the ever-changing city. I'm thrilled that I've finally found it again. Thank you, Global!
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Ouch, My Other Shoulder!
When I got my H1N1 shot, I thought I'd be smart and get them to inject it into my LEFT shoulder, so that the RIGHT one -- with the torn-but-possibly-healing labrum -- wouldn't get any worse.
A few hours later the muscle in my left shoulder began to ache. This is okay until I try to sleep, at which time I can't even REMOTELY support myself with my left arm without experiencing a momentary twinge of absolute agony...the same twinge I've been getting in my RIGHT shoulder for the past year, and which I've managed to cope with by sleeping with all my weight...on my left arm.
So my last two nights have been like this: roll over to the left, wake up with shoulder pain, finally fall asleep again. Turn to the right, wake up with pain in the OTHER shoulder, finally fall asleep again. Repeat dozens of times.
Despite the frustration -- and the fact that I'm writing this at 5am -- I think this is amusing, because sometimes I suspect that I'm living in a farce and it's nice to have my suspicions confirmed. I just hope that the bruised muscle in my left shoulder finally settles down. I gave in and started icing it tonight.
PS: How is my right shoulder, you're asking? I've stopped going to physiotherapy -- because we'd reached a plateau -- and started daily exercises again. I wasn't paying much attention to its progress until I noticed that I could once again touch my chest, and that I could SORT OF put my hand behind my back without hitting the invisible wall that's been back there for almost a year.
They say your shoulder labrum can heal if given enough rest and time, and maybe my regular exercises are finally paying off. My shoulder's still crazy -- it "clicks" due to misalignment and it still doesn't turn outwards properly -- but there has been SOME progress, somewhere, somehow.
Fingers crossed.
A few hours later the muscle in my left shoulder began to ache. This is okay until I try to sleep, at which time I can't even REMOTELY support myself with my left arm without experiencing a momentary twinge of absolute agony...the same twinge I've been getting in my RIGHT shoulder for the past year, and which I've managed to cope with by sleeping with all my weight...on my left arm.
So my last two nights have been like this: roll over to the left, wake up with shoulder pain, finally fall asleep again. Turn to the right, wake up with pain in the OTHER shoulder, finally fall asleep again. Repeat dozens of times.
Despite the frustration -- and the fact that I'm writing this at 5am -- I think this is amusing, because sometimes I suspect that I'm living in a farce and it's nice to have my suspicions confirmed. I just hope that the bruised muscle in my left shoulder finally settles down. I gave in and started icing it tonight.
PS: How is my right shoulder, you're asking? I've stopped going to physiotherapy -- because we'd reached a plateau -- and started daily exercises again. I wasn't paying much attention to its progress until I noticed that I could once again touch my chest, and that I could SORT OF put my hand behind my back without hitting the invisible wall that's been back there for almost a year.
They say your shoulder labrum can heal if given enough rest and time, and maybe my regular exercises are finally paying off. My shoulder's still crazy -- it "clicks" due to misalignment and it still doesn't turn outwards properly -- but there has been SOME progress, somewhere, somehow.
Fingers crossed.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
T-Plus One
It took only two hours for seven of us to move everything. I hate making other people deal with my own personal shortcomings -- pack-ratting, high dust-tolerance, unfastidiousness -- but everybody grinned and bore it for the duration, despite a few heart-jabbing jokes about hygiene.
My father drove the big 17' U-Haul truck, and was also in charge of packing everything into the back. The rest of us just carried boxes and boxes and boxes, and -- despite my best-laid plans -- everything got hopelessly muddled. Where's the hammer? Where does this box go? Should I have taken more chairs?
Then the moving in: brazenly parking everybody counter to the condo rules, then my mother -- spade in hand -- turning my ho-hum patio into a beautiful little garden. Vanilla and Jon took me out for lunch and de-stressing, then we returned and I began to put together the brand-new, luxurious computer desk.
Meanwhile my mother got to work on the windows. The previous owners of this townhouse were clean in every way but one: they never touched their windows. My mother was aghast, elbow-deep in black mould, fly sh*t, and "at least forty spiders." I have to console myself that whatever my housekeeping shortcomings I have NEVER left THAT sort of mess. Just other sorts of messes...
...so we went back to the old apartment and did some post-moving cleaning-up. I apologize to future renters that the fridge and stove are somewhat gross. As for the cat smell, I promise that's not my (or Zsa Zsa's) fault: it always smelt like that, depending on the day and humidity.
Bell Telephone arrived to hook me up, and I have to say that despite a few problems with them in the past, this time they were absolutely GOLDEN. Everything's working perfectly and -- what's more -- arranged around my beautiful new desk. My keyboard is in a comfortable spot for the first time in...well, forever. My feet no longer hurt when I sit and type.
My hope was that the single party wall in this townhouse would be totally soundproof. Well, it's not; I seem to be able to hear them when they're close to their walls, but either they're relatively quiet or the effect decreases with distance. In any case, so far it seems adequate.
It was SO nice to put my filthy clothes (remember, I haven't been able to wash them for almost a week) into MY OWN WASHER, and then into MY OWN DRYER, and then gently fold them in my own good time.
It hasn't sunk in that I own this place; currently it seems like "a place that I'm in." This is partly because I slept on my new couch last night, which is nice to sit on but terrible to sleep on, especially with a cat. This afternoon the guys from Sleep Country arrived and put my new bed together in TEN MINUTES. They even wore protective booties.
There is a lot of stuff remaining to be done. My life revolves around easily-performed routines, none of which are established in this new place. 95% of my stuff is still in boxes, and there are a lot of things I still need to buy, and I can't wait to try out the coffee maker that my sister bought me.
But my first real moment of bliss came when I went out back to sit in my yard. I sat on my new patio furniture and read Vladimir Nabokov in the cool morning air. Zsa Zsa explored the shrubbery, and then settled down to watch the neighbours as they passed by my gate. For the first time I really felt the words "My house," and then I thought "Good," and it was like something hard inside me melted just a bit.
My father drove the big 17' U-Haul truck, and was also in charge of packing everything into the back. The rest of us just carried boxes and boxes and boxes, and -- despite my best-laid plans -- everything got hopelessly muddled. Where's the hammer? Where does this box go? Should I have taken more chairs?
Then the moving in: brazenly parking everybody counter to the condo rules, then my mother -- spade in hand -- turning my ho-hum patio into a beautiful little garden. Vanilla and Jon took me out for lunch and de-stressing, then we returned and I began to put together the brand-new, luxurious computer desk.
Meanwhile my mother got to work on the windows. The previous owners of this townhouse were clean in every way but one: they never touched their windows. My mother was aghast, elbow-deep in black mould, fly sh*t, and "at least forty spiders." I have to console myself that whatever my housekeeping shortcomings I have NEVER left THAT sort of mess. Just other sorts of messes...
...so we went back to the old apartment and did some post-moving cleaning-up. I apologize to future renters that the fridge and stove are somewhat gross. As for the cat smell, I promise that's not my (or Zsa Zsa's) fault: it always smelt like that, depending on the day and humidity.
Bell Telephone arrived to hook me up, and I have to say that despite a few problems with them in the past, this time they were absolutely GOLDEN. Everything's working perfectly and -- what's more -- arranged around my beautiful new desk. My keyboard is in a comfortable spot for the first time in...well, forever. My feet no longer hurt when I sit and type.
My hope was that the single party wall in this townhouse would be totally soundproof. Well, it's not; I seem to be able to hear them when they're close to their walls, but either they're relatively quiet or the effect decreases with distance. In any case, so far it seems adequate.
It was SO nice to put my filthy clothes (remember, I haven't been able to wash them for almost a week) into MY OWN WASHER, and then into MY OWN DRYER, and then gently fold them in my own good time.
It hasn't sunk in that I own this place; currently it seems like "a place that I'm in." This is partly because I slept on my new couch last night, which is nice to sit on but terrible to sleep on, especially with a cat. This afternoon the guys from Sleep Country arrived and put my new bed together in TEN MINUTES. They even wore protective booties.
There is a lot of stuff remaining to be done. My life revolves around easily-performed routines, none of which are established in this new place. 95% of my stuff is still in boxes, and there are a lot of things I still need to buy, and I can't wait to try out the coffee maker that my sister bought me.
But my first real moment of bliss came when I went out back to sit in my yard. I sat on my new patio furniture and read Vladimir Nabokov in the cool morning air. Zsa Zsa explored the shrubbery, and then settled down to watch the neighbours as they passed by my gate. For the first time I really felt the words "My house," and then I thought "Good," and it was like something hard inside me melted just a bit.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Lightbox
Another experimental music video of my own construction: "Lightbox."
The Background
This time the audio came first. I had the idea of taking a sound source, splitting it up into five different frequencies, and applying a different type of tremolo to each frequency. The source I tried was a modified Hammond organ soft-synth, playing a rising series of barely-musical chords. That's the basis for the track.
Then I realized the bass was underrepresented so I added a single-note bassline (not an electric bass sadly, but another software synth). Up next was the "ting" of a pot handle being whacked with a spoon.
Once I'd gotten that far I tried to think of what it reminded me of, and ran down my ever-growing list of "box" words. Lo and behold: "Lightbox!" It was sharp, clean, shifting, meditative...
...but where to find the visuals? Lying in my bed on a Sunday morning and filming the odd pinhole camera effect of light coming through tiny slits in the curtains, filtered through blowing tree leaves. Those images aren't manipulated except for tiny tweaks in brightness and contrast; otherwise, that's the sort of thing I wake up to in the morning.
I tried filming the reflective lights of passing cars -- the phantoms that my cat chases at night -- but they didn't show up very well, and I'd pretty much decided to stay with stationary light only. Then I shot a few images of daylight around a chair and on my ceiling, and I had all the footage I needed.
Back to the music again. I sent the same, slowed-down chords through Logic's "Sculpture" instrument, which emulates the behaviour of various objects interacting with other objects...in this case, a really crazy bow being drawn across wood. I played a few descending notes on the ESQ-1 to finish it all off, and voila.
I like it. It's pretty, in a strange sort of way. It really does capture the feeling of laying in bed and watching the lights. Not much happens or changes during the song -- I took out the few stimulating samples and beats that I'd experimented with early on -- but I don't think anything SHOULD happen. It's just a lazy contemplation. It's meant to make you snooze.
The Background
This time the audio came first. I had the idea of taking a sound source, splitting it up into five different frequencies, and applying a different type of tremolo to each frequency. The source I tried was a modified Hammond organ soft-synth, playing a rising series of barely-musical chords. That's the basis for the track.
Then I realized the bass was underrepresented so I added a single-note bassline (not an electric bass sadly, but another software synth). Up next was the "ting" of a pot handle being whacked with a spoon.
Once I'd gotten that far I tried to think of what it reminded me of, and ran down my ever-growing list of "box" words. Lo and behold: "Lightbox!" It was sharp, clean, shifting, meditative...
...but where to find the visuals? Lying in my bed on a Sunday morning and filming the odd pinhole camera effect of light coming through tiny slits in the curtains, filtered through blowing tree leaves. Those images aren't manipulated except for tiny tweaks in brightness and contrast; otherwise, that's the sort of thing I wake up to in the morning.
I tried filming the reflective lights of passing cars -- the phantoms that my cat chases at night -- but they didn't show up very well, and I'd pretty much decided to stay with stationary light only. Then I shot a few images of daylight around a chair and on my ceiling, and I had all the footage I needed.
Back to the music again. I sent the same, slowed-down chords through Logic's "Sculpture" instrument, which emulates the behaviour of various objects interacting with other objects...in this case, a really crazy bow being drawn across wood. I played a few descending notes on the ESQ-1 to finish it all off, and voila.
I like it. It's pretty, in a strange sort of way. It really does capture the feeling of laying in bed and watching the lights. Not much happens or changes during the song -- I took out the few stimulating samples and beats that I'd experimented with early on -- but I don't think anything SHOULD happen. It's just a lazy contemplation. It's meant to make you snooze.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Transcript of a Night of Pain
Ten o'clock. Good puss. Yeah, she's a good puss. Goodnight, puss.
Groan. Try the left side. Oh, that's pretty good, if I bend my elbow and put my right hand up near my chin. Hmmm. Still okay.
OH! Ouch, no, try the right side. That's not working. Ouch! Maybe if I...OUCH! Okay no. If I put my hand on the pillow...okay...whew! That's a bit better. Not hurting. Hmmm. Still okay. Hmmm. Zzzzzzzz...
Ouch! Ow, what is it? Ow. Eleven-thirty. That really sucks. If I lie here on my back and just put my right hand in my left hand that feels...okay, that's better.
I must have pulled a muscle. YEAH! GREAT! Aw jeez, yeah, hello puss. How're you? How's my puss? Pretty girl! Goodnight, puss!
Maybe if I...OW! All locked up. Just to the right a bit...a bit more...sigh. Doesn't hurt much. I should be able to...zzzzzzzz...
OUCH! Ouch, my shoulder. What time is it? Two o'clock. Oooh, I'll just lie here, ow. K-9 and Princess Astra. Princess Strella. "Just to break-a-my fah...ah-ah-ah, ah-ah." Astra. "People tell me it's gonna get bet-tah, gonna get bet-tah." Hmm. Left side maybe. OW! Oh, that's better. Zzzzzzz.
OW-OW-OW! This is the bad--OW! Gotta get...OW! Four o'clock. Oooo, get lost puss, need an ice pack, why don't I put all this crap away...ahh, that's better. Ice ice ice. I wonder if Zsa Zsa will get sick from licking the ice pack. I wonder if she'll wreck it. Rough tongue. Ahhh. High blood sugar. Gotta sleep, this is a really awful sleep tonight. Hmmm. Princess Strella. No, Astra. "Just to break-a-my fah...ah-ah-ah..." Maybe if I... "I've never loved nobody fully..." Hmmm.
OW! Roll over. OW! Okay, if I really push my shoulder down. If I grab my shoulder and push it DOWN. Aha. Can I sleep like this? Hmmm. K-9. "Yes, master." Good puss. Zzzzzzz.
Wha...huh...five o'clock, what? Low blood sugar, eat some...OW! Jeez. Eat some candy. Ice pack is warm. Maybe if I lie here. That's okay. Don't look at the clock. Don't think about it. Hmmm. Zzzzzzz...
Groan. Try the left side. Oh, that's pretty good, if I bend my elbow and put my right hand up near my chin. Hmmm. Still okay.
OH! Ouch, no, try the right side. That's not working. Ouch! Maybe if I...OUCH! Okay no. If I put my hand on the pillow...okay...whew! That's a bit better. Not hurting. Hmmm. Still okay. Hmmm. Zzzzzzzz...
Ouch! Ow, what is it? Ow. Eleven-thirty. That really sucks. If I lie here on my back and just put my right hand in my left hand that feels...okay, that's better.
I must have pulled a muscle. YEAH! GREAT! Aw jeez, yeah, hello puss. How're you? How's my puss? Pretty girl! Goodnight, puss!
Maybe if I...OW! All locked up. Just to the right a bit...a bit more...sigh. Doesn't hurt much. I should be able to...zzzzzzzz...
OUCH! Ouch, my shoulder. What time is it? Two o'clock. Oooh, I'll just lie here, ow. K-9 and Princess Astra. Princess Strella. "Just to break-a-my fah...ah-ah-ah, ah-ah." Astra. "People tell me it's gonna get bet-tah, gonna get bet-tah." Hmm. Left side maybe. OW! Oh, that's better. Zzzzzzz.
OW-OW-OW! This is the bad--OW! Gotta get...OW! Four o'clock. Oooo, get lost puss, need an ice pack, why don't I put all this crap away...ahh, that's better. Ice ice ice. I wonder if Zsa Zsa will get sick from licking the ice pack. I wonder if she'll wreck it. Rough tongue. Ahhh. High blood sugar. Gotta sleep, this is a really awful sleep tonight. Hmmm. Princess Strella. No, Astra. "Just to break-a-my fah...ah-ah-ah..." Maybe if I... "I've never loved nobody fully..." Hmmm.
OW! Roll over. OW! Okay, if I really push my shoulder down. If I grab my shoulder and push it DOWN. Aha. Can I sleep like this? Hmmm. K-9. "Yes, master." Good puss. Zzzzzzz.
Wha...huh...five o'clock, what? Low blood sugar, eat some...OW! Jeez. Eat some candy. Ice pack is warm. Maybe if I lie here. That's okay. Don't look at the clock. Don't think about it. Hmmm. Zzzzzzz...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
The Itis Family
Good golly, my apartment is just stuffed full of healthiness.
Bronchitis
I went to the Urgent Care Clinic when I lost half my hearing last week, and the doctor cheerfully informed me that I was suffering from bronchitis. I've never had it before and I don't even feel like I have it now -- no wheezing or rattling or anything -- but that's why He's The Doctor.
After rushing me through the diagnosis and prescription, the doctor asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was a technical writer. He then launched into a spiel about product design which lasted at least ten minutes, and I'm not exaggerating.
He said that products should require no documentation whatsoever. He said we need to spend money on better human interfaces. He pulled a Blackberry out of one pocket and an iTouch out of the other, and proceeded to describe all of their features and differences (pretending the iTouch was his iPhone, which he didn't have on him), concluding that the iPhone was perfectly engineered and that even his autistic son was capable of using it.
It was difficult to get a word in, but I did my best. I explained that simple products with single workflows require little or no documentation, but software is rarely like that, and the more flexible a product is the more documentation it requires. I explained that everybody has a different level of competence and background knowledge. I explained that his iPhone appeals to a very different market than his Blackberry, generalized to "hip consumer" versus "conservative businessman." I also wondered if his autistic son would be able to understand all the options for interfacing the iPhone with different products or use all of its options without a manual, but I was sort of afraid that would sound belittling.
Plus there were people in the waiting room who'd been sitting there for over two hours, waiting for an available doctor.
Anyway, I'm on these horse-pill antibiotics and ephedrine decongestants, which are NOTHING like the nightclub drugs they can supposedly be turned into, but they do sometimes give me goosebumps. My hearing has returned, but when I blow my nose I sometimes hear a weird squeltching noise.
Tendonitis
A different doctor -- from Waterloo Sports Medicine -- has diagnosed me with acute rotator cuff tendonitis, which means that a tendon inside the bony part of my right shoulder has become terribly inflamed. He described it as "a simple problem that's very difficult to fix," and said it came about "through a series of trivial mishaps all coming together." Those mishaps included slipping on the ice, bashing it against a wall, reaching too far behind me, learning to play the bass, and putting on an insane outfit three weeks ago that involved multiple zips and buttons in the middle of my back.
Today was my first day of physiotherapy. It's incredible what these people know about bones. I have to do a few exercises which involve lying down and lifting an umbrella, and she even told me how I can sleep without waking up in pain every hour: lie on my back with a pillow on my stomach, my right arm resting on the pillow.
This sounds good but it's like having a chubby person lying on me. A chubby person wearing cordouroy.
That's why I'm up right now writing this. Totally changing my sleeping positions -- which I've no doubt had since I was, well, a toddler -- will take some getting used to.
Conjunctivitis
On Friday, Zsa Zsa's right eye began to leak. That eye has always tended to get a tiny bit crusty, but now it's literally dripping water and -- if we're lucky -- little streaks of pus. I tried to treat it with cotton balls dipped in hot salt water (thanks mom!) but that hasn't helped, so today we went to see the vet.
The vet was less concerned with her eye than she was with Zsa Zsa's well-documented kidney problems. I was like, "Yeah, I know, she's on a swift decline with no solution short of an organ transplant, and the next step will no doubt be to put her to sleep...but what about her GROSS EYE?"
Conjunctivitis, predictably. Twice a day I'm squeezing little lines of goop onto her eyeball, which is less disturbing than it sounds. What's most disconcerting is the way the goop oozes out of the tube ENTIRELY ON ITS OWN VOLITION, as though it were alive. Also disconcerting was the bill.
Bronchitis
I went to the Urgent Care Clinic when I lost half my hearing last week, and the doctor cheerfully informed me that I was suffering from bronchitis. I've never had it before and I don't even feel like I have it now -- no wheezing or rattling or anything -- but that's why He's The Doctor.
After rushing me through the diagnosis and prescription, the doctor asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was a technical writer. He then launched into a spiel about product design which lasted at least ten minutes, and I'm not exaggerating.
He said that products should require no documentation whatsoever. He said we need to spend money on better human interfaces. He pulled a Blackberry out of one pocket and an iTouch out of the other, and proceeded to describe all of their features and differences (pretending the iTouch was his iPhone, which he didn't have on him), concluding that the iPhone was perfectly engineered and that even his autistic son was capable of using it.
It was difficult to get a word in, but I did my best. I explained that simple products with single workflows require little or no documentation, but software is rarely like that, and the more flexible a product is the more documentation it requires. I explained that everybody has a different level of competence and background knowledge. I explained that his iPhone appeals to a very different market than his Blackberry, generalized to "hip consumer" versus "conservative businessman." I also wondered if his autistic son would be able to understand all the options for interfacing the iPhone with different products or use all of its options without a manual, but I was sort of afraid that would sound belittling.
Plus there were people in the waiting room who'd been sitting there for over two hours, waiting for an available doctor.
Anyway, I'm on these horse-pill antibiotics and ephedrine decongestants, which are NOTHING like the nightclub drugs they can supposedly be turned into, but they do sometimes give me goosebumps. My hearing has returned, but when I blow my nose I sometimes hear a weird squeltching noise.
Tendonitis
A different doctor -- from Waterloo Sports Medicine -- has diagnosed me with acute rotator cuff tendonitis, which means that a tendon inside the bony part of my right shoulder has become terribly inflamed. He described it as "a simple problem that's very difficult to fix," and said it came about "through a series of trivial mishaps all coming together." Those mishaps included slipping on the ice, bashing it against a wall, reaching too far behind me, learning to play the bass, and putting on an insane outfit three weeks ago that involved multiple zips and buttons in the middle of my back.
Today was my first day of physiotherapy. It's incredible what these people know about bones. I have to do a few exercises which involve lying down and lifting an umbrella, and she even told me how I can sleep without waking up in pain every hour: lie on my back with a pillow on my stomach, my right arm resting on the pillow.
This sounds good but it's like having a chubby person lying on me. A chubby person wearing cordouroy.
That's why I'm up right now writing this. Totally changing my sleeping positions -- which I've no doubt had since I was, well, a toddler -- will take some getting used to.
Conjunctivitis
On Friday, Zsa Zsa's right eye began to leak. That eye has always tended to get a tiny bit crusty, but now it's literally dripping water and -- if we're lucky -- little streaks of pus. I tried to treat it with cotton balls dipped in hot salt water (thanks mom!) but that hasn't helped, so today we went to see the vet.
The vet was less concerned with her eye than she was with Zsa Zsa's well-documented kidney problems. I was like, "Yeah, I know, she's on a swift decline with no solution short of an organ transplant, and the next step will no doubt be to put her to sleep...but what about her GROSS EYE?"
Conjunctivitis, predictably. Twice a day I'm squeezing little lines of goop onto her eyeball, which is less disturbing than it sounds. What's most disconcerting is the way the goop oozes out of the tube ENTIRELY ON ITS OWN VOLITION, as though it were alive. Also disconcerting was the bill.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
No Sleep
You should never sit up late at night reading a scary book, especially not one you know will escalate from "spooky" to "gruesome" to "utterly horrifying," without relent.
You shouldn't do this after a day when you've just rushed your cat to the emergency clinic. Then, later in the evening, you shouldn't read the book immediately before and after your cat does something gory and grotesque.
None of this should happen when you're recovering from a bad cold, when you have a slight cough that threatens to keep you awake anyway.
Downstairs, Zsa Zsa is keeping silent watch over the kitchen vent, hoping for more mice.
There is no way I'm going to fall asleep. This is a much needed Gravol night.
You shouldn't do this after a day when you've just rushed your cat to the emergency clinic. Then, later in the evening, you shouldn't read the book immediately before and after your cat does something gory and grotesque.
None of this should happen when you're recovering from a bad cold, when you have a slight cough that threatens to keep you awake anyway.
Downstairs, Zsa Zsa is keeping silent watch over the kitchen vent, hoping for more mice.
There is no way I'm going to fall asleep. This is a much needed Gravol night.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Teasing Dreams
I sometimes think that the only reason we dream is to trick us into getting out of bed.
When I wake up and am still in confused semi-awareness, I remember my dreams as reality and I think that the world's a really interesting place.
"Gotta get up! They're making a movie in Antarctica with a commissary that serves deep-fried cheese fingers, and every town has a house where the gay kids think up fabulous disguises, and a rotten banana is chasing the boyscout. What an incredible world we live in!"
Then I turn on the light and realize that I WON'T be going to Antarctica today...instead I'll just be going to breakfast, which is nice but not NEARLY so exciting.
Maybe if we didn't dream we'd never turn on the light?
When I wake up and am still in confused semi-awareness, I remember my dreams as reality and I think that the world's a really interesting place.
"Gotta get up! They're making a movie in Antarctica with a commissary that serves deep-fried cheese fingers, and every town has a house where the gay kids think up fabulous disguises, and a rotten banana is chasing the boyscout. What an incredible world we live in!"
Then I turn on the light and realize that I WON'T be going to Antarctica today...instead I'll just be going to breakfast, which is nice but not NEARLY so exciting.
Maybe if we didn't dream we'd never turn on the light?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
An Urge to Skin the Noisy Cat
Oh, jeez. For the last few days my cat has been demanding food at 5:00am. I have ignored her, locked her out of my bedroom, and given her a hard swat on her famous bum, but if anything this morning she was TWICE as bad. And when I finally DID feed her at 7:30am she didn't even EAT any of it, which means she wasn't particularly hungry beforehand.
My cat and I have a "don't give me no guff" relationship; she learned long ago that pestering me doesn't help, and she generally only meows obsessively when she's communicating an urgent message (like "mouse in the vent!" or "radiation cloud!")
But I've noticed, recently, that her needy meowing has slipped the bonds of necessity and become sheer annoying petulance. I think she's becoming a bit senile.
Anyway, this 5am breakfast demand has got to stop, if not least because it probably wakes my neighbour up. But the only way I can stop it is by continuing to ignore her.
My cat and I have a "don't give me no guff" relationship; she learned long ago that pestering me doesn't help, and she generally only meows obsessively when she's communicating an urgent message (like "mouse in the vent!" or "radiation cloud!")
But I've noticed, recently, that her needy meowing has slipped the bonds of necessity and become sheer annoying petulance. I think she's becoming a bit senile.
Anyway, this 5am breakfast demand has got to stop, if not least because it probably wakes my neighbour up. But the only way I can stop it is by continuing to ignore her.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Know Your Neighbours
I've heard intermittent thumps and squeaks from the pests in my attic since I moved into this apartment, but this winter has been particularly loud. I have heard them fighting, chasing each other, and having brief but joyous rodent-sex.
Sex I can handle, but I draw the line at chewing, especially when it's done just above my bedroom. I have told the landlords several times that something is chewing up their property but they always act as though I'm saying something obscene in a foreign language; they smile and nod in a non-committal way and then ask me for the rent cheque.
My neighbours last year said that the landlords denied that anything was actually IN the attic, blaming our reports on structural settlage, overactive imaginations, or perhaps ghosts.
This afternoon -- while taking a nap before tonight's drag show -- I was rudely awakened by cacophonous chewing above my bedroom ceiling. Banging on the walls and yelling "shut up!" didn't stop it. Earplugs and box fans were useless. No, I was at the mercy of the Creatures in the Attic, and I was determined to finally get photographic proof of their presence, and also to verify that they were actually squirrels (and not raccoons...they stay up awfully late).
Getting into the attic isn't easy or fun. I need to remove the shelving in a tiny closet -- first finding a place for hundreds of tubes of lipstick and nailpolish bottles -- then contort myself up through a hole that is otherwise blocked by a piece of wood. By the time I'd done this the chewing was still going on.
With camera and flashlight I poked my head into the attic, and here's the monster who was waiting for me:
Awww, cute! Noisy! Destructive! Territorial!
While his invisible sex-buddy continued non-chalantly chewing in one of the corners, this guy circled me several times, seeming more baffled than angry. He made that "chattery" sound that squirrels sometimes make, as if to say "yeah, I'm definitely a squirrel, and I DO like to stay up late."
Then he darted in for the kill:
When you're hanging by your elbows on a thin wooden ledge, your body twisted into a cramp-inducing L-shape, wearing only a robe and with your hands busy with both flashlight and camera, you get a little spooked when wild animals dart at you. Terrified, I shouted "NO!" and he ran away.
I'm going to send these pictures to my landlords and I'll write a typically polite email about it. When I don't receive a reply I'll wait until they come to collect my rent, and then I'll hand them print-outs of the pictures and say "there are squirrels in the attic, and they're chewing holes in the building."
I know what'll happen next. The landlords will nod and smile and walk right back out the door. Later, they'll show the pictures to their children and say "look at these imaginary things, I wonder what they are and where they live?"
Sex I can handle, but I draw the line at chewing, especially when it's done just above my bedroom. I have told the landlords several times that something is chewing up their property but they always act as though I'm saying something obscene in a foreign language; they smile and nod in a non-committal way and then ask me for the rent cheque.
My neighbours last year said that the landlords denied that anything was actually IN the attic, blaming our reports on structural settlage, overactive imaginations, or perhaps ghosts.
This afternoon -- while taking a nap before tonight's drag show -- I was rudely awakened by cacophonous chewing above my bedroom ceiling. Banging on the walls and yelling "shut up!" didn't stop it. Earplugs and box fans were useless. No, I was at the mercy of the Creatures in the Attic, and I was determined to finally get photographic proof of their presence, and also to verify that they were actually squirrels (and not raccoons...they stay up awfully late).
Getting into the attic isn't easy or fun. I need to remove the shelving in a tiny closet -- first finding a place for hundreds of tubes of lipstick and nailpolish bottles -- then contort myself up through a hole that is otherwise blocked by a piece of wood. By the time I'd done this the chewing was still going on.
With camera and flashlight I poked my head into the attic, and here's the monster who was waiting for me:
Awww, cute! Noisy! Destructive! Territorial!
While his invisible sex-buddy continued non-chalantly chewing in one of the corners, this guy circled me several times, seeming more baffled than angry. He made that "chattery" sound that squirrels sometimes make, as if to say "yeah, I'm definitely a squirrel, and I DO like to stay up late."
Then he darted in for the kill:
When you're hanging by your elbows on a thin wooden ledge, your body twisted into a cramp-inducing L-shape, wearing only a robe and with your hands busy with both flashlight and camera, you get a little spooked when wild animals dart at you. Terrified, I shouted "NO!" and he ran away.
I'm going to send these pictures to my landlords and I'll write a typically polite email about it. When I don't receive a reply I'll wait until they come to collect my rent, and then I'll hand them print-outs of the pictures and say "there are squirrels in the attic, and they're chewing holes in the building."
I know what'll happen next. The landlords will nod and smile and walk right back out the door. Later, they'll show the pictures to their children and say "look at these imaginary things, I wonder what they are and where they live?"
Monday, March 03, 2008
Lullaby In An Apartment House
My good fortune can't hold out forever; someday people will move into the unit adjacent to mine, and all my neighbour-troubles will begin again.
When I come here to whine and moan, please sing me this lullaby from the October 6, 1928 issue of The New Yorker.
Admittedly my potential neighbours may require a verse for themselves:
Sleep, little one, sleep.
Permit your tired mind to heal
While 'cross the wall shouts Schnapps the Seal,
With "Doctor Who" on endless reel,
Sleep, little one, sleep
Or that freak will getcha,
Sleep, little one, sleep.
When I come here to whine and moan, please sing me this lullaby from the October 6, 1928 issue of The New Yorker.
Sleep, little one, sleep.(Howard Cushman)
The sandman's going his rounds once more,
While red-hot jazz from the Palais d'Or
Steals in from Apartment 24.
Sleep, little one, sleep.
Hush-a-bye
Sleep, little one, sleep.
Sleep, little one, sleep.
Drift off to the land of slumber, pet.
The Smiths have a brand new five-tube set.
If you wake at twelve 'twill be going yet.
Sleep, little one, sleep
If you can.
Sleep, precious one, sleep.
Sleep, little one, sleep.
Skim the sky on a fleecy cloud,
As Jenks next door makes drinks for the crowd.
In another round they will get quite loud.
Sleep, little one, sleep
For your own protection.
Sleep, angel one, sleep.
Sleep, little one, sleep.
The silver moon casts a magic spell.
From the Roxy organ comes "William Tell,"
As Dr. Cadman discusses hell.
Sleep, little one, sleep.
In your trundle bedlam
Sleep, harried on, sleep.
Admittedly my potential neighbours may require a verse for themselves:
Sleep, little one, sleep.
Permit your tired mind to heal
While 'cross the wall shouts Schnapps the Seal,
With "Doctor Who" on endless reel,
Sleep, little one, sleep
Or that freak will getcha,
Sleep, little one, sleep.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Gravol
I've been having an awful time getting to sleep lately. I was at the end of my rope and about to have a nervous breakdown when Tanzi suggested the obvious: maybe my sleeping schedule had simply gotten out of whack and I needed to reset it by conking myself out with medication?
She suggested Gravol and I was willing to try anything.
REAL Gravol -- not the herbal stuff -- is now kept behind the drug store counter, either because it's being abused or because people are stealing it. In front of a bunch of elderly people I admitted that I was using it as a sedative, which is not what Gravol is generally used for, and I felt mighty embarassed until I realized that most of those old people were probably buying erectile aids and extra-strength laxatives.
My only previous Gravol experience was ten years ago, when I was spending a week's vacation with a friend in Toronto. Stricken by the flu the night I arrived, she gave me Gravol so I could get through a shopping trip, and I vividly remember standing in the middle of the Eaton Centre saying "I don't know where I am, I can't see anything properly, please lead me to a safe corner somewhere." It was a strange drug experience that I only now understand is the effect of taking TOO MUCH Gravol, which some folks do for fun. This is probably why it's kept behind the counter.
Anxious to avoid hallucinations, I took only one pill at 9pm last night. By 9:30 I was feeling disconnected and sleepy, but I'd spent the last two weeks feeling that way so I'm not sure how much of that was the Gravol. I got into bed and read until 10pm, by which time I felt ready to sleep. I was calmly unconcerned about the growing numbness in my extremities, ready to sacrifice a finger or a toe for a good night's sleep. I dozed off immediately and slept like a total log, not dreaming, until 5am when I woke up for a bathroom break.
As though compensating for the seven hours without dreams, my last two hours of sleep were jam-packed with bizarre, vivid imagery. By 7:30am I was fully awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to go to work with all of my toes intact.
I feel much better today and hopefully this has done the trick. As for the efficiency of Gravol, either it really does give you a powerful drowse-on or I suffered one heck of a placebo effect. I hadn't gambled on the hand-and-foot pins-and-needles, but my circulation is worse than normal so most people shouldn't have a problem with it. Still, I have to say that if you're going to take it, see your doctor and don't blame me if you die.
Thanks, Tanzi!
She suggested Gravol and I was willing to try anything.
REAL Gravol -- not the herbal stuff -- is now kept behind the drug store counter, either because it's being abused or because people are stealing it. In front of a bunch of elderly people I admitted that I was using it as a sedative, which is not what Gravol is generally used for, and I felt mighty embarassed until I realized that most of those old people were probably buying erectile aids and extra-strength laxatives.
My only previous Gravol experience was ten years ago, when I was spending a week's vacation with a friend in Toronto. Stricken by the flu the night I arrived, she gave me Gravol so I could get through a shopping trip, and I vividly remember standing in the middle of the Eaton Centre saying "I don't know where I am, I can't see anything properly, please lead me to a safe corner somewhere." It was a strange drug experience that I only now understand is the effect of taking TOO MUCH Gravol, which some folks do for fun. This is probably why it's kept behind the counter.
Anxious to avoid hallucinations, I took only one pill at 9pm last night. By 9:30 I was feeling disconnected and sleepy, but I'd spent the last two weeks feeling that way so I'm not sure how much of that was the Gravol. I got into bed and read until 10pm, by which time I felt ready to sleep. I was calmly unconcerned about the growing numbness in my extremities, ready to sacrifice a finger or a toe for a good night's sleep. I dozed off immediately and slept like a total log, not dreaming, until 5am when I woke up for a bathroom break.
As though compensating for the seven hours without dreams, my last two hours of sleep were jam-packed with bizarre, vivid imagery. By 7:30am I was fully awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to go to work with all of my toes intact.
I feel much better today and hopefully this has done the trick. As for the efficiency of Gravol, either it really does give you a powerful drowse-on or I suffered one heck of a placebo effect. I hadn't gambled on the hand-and-foot pins-and-needles, but my circulation is worse than normal so most people shouldn't have a problem with it. Still, I have to say that if you're going to take it, see your doctor and don't blame me if you die.
Thanks, Tanzi!
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Toss and Turn
Sleep has always been difficult for me at the best of times, but I go through phases when it's downright maddening. Some nights I'll lie there for two hours or more and still be wide awake.
I've learned that there is a physical "sleep zone" that I need to reach. In this zone I feel mentally drowsy and comfortable, the real world starts to retreat, the images in my head take on a hazy quality. Once I'm in that spot I can happily congratulate myself and be unconscious in a few minutes.
GETTING to that zone has always been the trouble, because there are "things" in the way. Sometimes these things are physical -- like a high energy level, an uncomfortable sleeping area, or blood sugar that's out of whack. But most of the time the obstacle is a mental one. I have "things on my mind" and my mind won't let them go without a fight.
One technique I've used for a long time is to let each mental "thing" appear in front of my eyes -- like a future task that's worrying me or an activity I'm looking forward to -- and then I mentally burn them in a quick flash that instantly disappears. If I can do this fast, for all those things, then there are no mental left-overs. But the difficulty is that the very mental process of imagining these flashes is ANOTHER "thing," and I must make sure not to dwell upon it in any way: just let the flash happen and instantly forget it happened.
When that doesn't work I try something I discovered last year: I visualize a bright white "square wave" -- a blocky line with a few 90-degree angles in it -- accompanied by a deafening, clean, unmusical tone. My brain instantly starts to whip around to concentrate on those other things," and each time it starts to grasp one I intensify the tone and bring the square wave in again. This works for more bothersome "things" but is easy to get tired of...if it doesn't work after ten minutes or so it just won't work at all.
For the past two weeks I've had A LOT of trouble sleeping, because I'm experiencing this burning creative urge: a need to devise new projects and consider old projects. I'll go to bed and instantly start writing blog entries in my head, or considering musical possibilities, or sketching out storyboards. When this happens I start to lose more and more sleep, which is ironic because if I actually GOT enough sleep I'd have the energy to follow THROUGH with all those plans.
All these visualization things I've mentioned are ways of turning abstract mental "things" into nearly physical objects, because physical objects can be destroyed or ignored or -- even better -- turned off.
So now, in this time of sleep-crisis, I've been trying out a new technique. I imagine a little cave full of filmstrip machines -- remember those? -- and each one is showing a different basic TYPE of "thing." Rather than projecting SPECIFIC things, like "I can't believe I said that thing to so-and-so last year" -- as I've always done before -- I now lump all those "things" into categories -- like "regrets," for instance. I let them play for a while and then, one-by-one, turn the filmstrip machines off until finally the cave is dark.
Besides "regrets" I commonly have an "anticipated worry" machine, and a "reruns" machine for all those times I obsessively re-run recent events in my head. I have a "chores" machine devoted to the things I haven't done yet (like clean out the litterbox) and a "work" machine for stuff I've neglected at work. I have a "self worries" machine for agonizing about my own shortcomings and another machine for "grudges."
Not all of them are negative. There's a "creativity" machine for all the projects I'm working on, and an occasionally-active "state of the world" machine that speaks for itself. There's one for "worrying about others" and one for "remembering neat things," and of course a "song in my head" machine for those pop songs that just won't let me sleep.
The one problem I've had with this new routine is that, as I'm walking around turning off these machines, I'm often thinking "I'll need to blog about this activity I'm doing," which is a sort of inconceivable meta-machine that can't be conceptualized and can only be ignored. Now that I HAVE blogged about it, I hope that hurdle can be overcome and that I'll sleep like the dead tonight.
I've learned that there is a physical "sleep zone" that I need to reach. In this zone I feel mentally drowsy and comfortable, the real world starts to retreat, the images in my head take on a hazy quality. Once I'm in that spot I can happily congratulate myself and be unconscious in a few minutes.
GETTING to that zone has always been the trouble, because there are "things" in the way. Sometimes these things are physical -- like a high energy level, an uncomfortable sleeping area, or blood sugar that's out of whack. But most of the time the obstacle is a mental one. I have "things on my mind" and my mind won't let them go without a fight.
One technique I've used for a long time is to let each mental "thing" appear in front of my eyes -- like a future task that's worrying me or an activity I'm looking forward to -- and then I mentally burn them in a quick flash that instantly disappears. If I can do this fast, for all those things, then there are no mental left-overs. But the difficulty is that the very mental process of imagining these flashes is ANOTHER "thing," and I must make sure not to dwell upon it in any way: just let the flash happen and instantly forget it happened.
When that doesn't work I try something I discovered last year: I visualize a bright white "square wave" -- a blocky line with a few 90-degree angles in it -- accompanied by a deafening, clean, unmusical tone. My brain instantly starts to whip around to concentrate on those other things," and each time it starts to grasp one I intensify the tone and bring the square wave in again. This works for more bothersome "things" but is easy to get tired of...if it doesn't work after ten minutes or so it just won't work at all.
For the past two weeks I've had A LOT of trouble sleeping, because I'm experiencing this burning creative urge: a need to devise new projects and consider old projects. I'll go to bed and instantly start writing blog entries in my head, or considering musical possibilities, or sketching out storyboards. When this happens I start to lose more and more sleep, which is ironic because if I actually GOT enough sleep I'd have the energy to follow THROUGH with all those plans.
All these visualization things I've mentioned are ways of turning abstract mental "things" into nearly physical objects, because physical objects can be destroyed or ignored or -- even better -- turned off.
So now, in this time of sleep-crisis, I've been trying out a new technique. I imagine a little cave full of filmstrip machines -- remember those? -- and each one is showing a different basic TYPE of "thing." Rather than projecting SPECIFIC things, like "I can't believe I said that thing to so-and-so last year" -- as I've always done before -- I now lump all those "things" into categories -- like "regrets," for instance. I let them play for a while and then, one-by-one, turn the filmstrip machines off until finally the cave is dark.
Besides "regrets" I commonly have an "anticipated worry" machine, and a "reruns" machine for all those times I obsessively re-run recent events in my head. I have a "chores" machine devoted to the things I haven't done yet (like clean out the litterbox) and a "work" machine for stuff I've neglected at work. I have a "self worries" machine for agonizing about my own shortcomings and another machine for "grudges."
Not all of them are negative. There's a "creativity" machine for all the projects I'm working on, and an occasionally-active "state of the world" machine that speaks for itself. There's one for "worrying about others" and one for "remembering neat things," and of course a "song in my head" machine for those pop songs that just won't let me sleep.
The one problem I've had with this new routine is that, as I'm walking around turning off these machines, I'm often thinking "I'll need to blog about this activity I'm doing," which is a sort of inconceivable meta-machine that can't be conceptualized and can only be ignored. Now that I HAVE blogged about it, I hope that hurdle can be overcome and that I'll sleep like the dead tonight.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Soundproof Your Floor and Your Head
I see from my blog stats that lots of people are looking for soundproofing tips. They come here because I've whined about living in a duplex with wooden floors, holes in the walls, and a barking dog.
I've already explained the importance of stuffing "tundra foam" (or some other foamy substance) into baseboard-cracks, and filling up smaller cracks with "DAP Quik Seal" (or some other sealant). This stops higher-frequency noises (like chatter) and cigarette smoke from drifting in. If you find that your wooden floors have small cracks in them, you might considering putting down a thick rug...I know that the holes from my neighbour's apartment travel underneath my hall and bedroom floors.
But what about the thumps and the barking? I can't block that stuff out of the ENTIRE apartment -- we share a huge common wall that seems to actually TRANSMIT sound -- but I have two techniques for getting to sleep.
First, a box-fan. Get one that's a little bit noisy (but doesn't rattle) and put it outside your bedroom door, in between you and "the noise." If low-frequency bumps are traveling through the floor (as they often do), the fan will not only block atmospheric noise but will also help jam the "floor-signals." If your bed is transmitting those frequencies from the floor and into your mattress, try putting over-stuffed pillows under the bed's legs.
Second, earplugs. If earplugs have never worked for you before, I bet it's because you either didn't buy the right ones or you didn't insert them properly. I'm using "Rexall" foam plugs. I twist them into little cone-shaped corkscrews, pull on the top of my ears (to open the ear canals), push them inside (in the direction of my nose, which seems to work best), then hold the plugs until they untwist and expand. They aren't exactly comfortable -- and hearing your own heartbeat can be disconcerting -- but I've gotten used to them.
And hey, throw out the earplugs when they start to get gross. Fresh ones work the best.
I've already explained the importance of stuffing "tundra foam" (or some other foamy substance) into baseboard-cracks, and filling up smaller cracks with "DAP Quik Seal" (or some other sealant). This stops higher-frequency noises (like chatter) and cigarette smoke from drifting in. If you find that your wooden floors have small cracks in them, you might considering putting down a thick rug...I know that the holes from my neighbour's apartment travel underneath my hall and bedroom floors.
But what about the thumps and the barking? I can't block that stuff out of the ENTIRE apartment -- we share a huge common wall that seems to actually TRANSMIT sound -- but I have two techniques for getting to sleep.
First, a box-fan. Get one that's a little bit noisy (but doesn't rattle) and put it outside your bedroom door, in between you and "the noise." If low-frequency bumps are traveling through the floor (as they often do), the fan will not only block atmospheric noise but will also help jam the "floor-signals." If your bed is transmitting those frequencies from the floor and into your mattress, try putting over-stuffed pillows under the bed's legs.
Second, earplugs. If earplugs have never worked for you before, I bet it's because you either didn't buy the right ones or you didn't insert them properly. I'm using "Rexall" foam plugs. I twist them into little cone-shaped corkscrews, pull on the top of my ears (to open the ear canals), push them inside (in the direction of my nose, which seems to work best), then hold the plugs until they untwist and expand. They aren't exactly comfortable -- and hearing your own heartbeat can be disconcerting -- but I've gotten used to them.
And hey, throw out the earplugs when they start to get gross. Fresh ones work the best.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Old UPhold: Songs About Neighbours
Nothing inspires like anxiety so it's no wonder that I've recorded so many songs about neighbours. I've just posted two old GREENman songs about living in close proximity with other human beings.The first, an excerpt from "September," is part of an entire ALBUM about bad neighbours in student housing. We'd just moved into a student slum and I found the place to be incredibly stressful; the Bunny Killer was alternating wild sex with masochistic beatings on the other side of my particle-board bedroom wall, most of our neighbours were drunken frat boys, and there was pasta in the toilet.
I recorded "The Grey Yonder" over the first six months (which were by far the worst). "September," the first track, packs in all the chaos and fear and anxiety that I felt during the first few weeks, with Scott Irving whacking away on his bass guitar. I like it a lot but it's ugly. It's no coincidence that I'd been listening to a new cassette by Antiform at the time.
The second "bad neighbour" track is "Hot Comfort, Small Comfort," which originally appeared on "Drabbletales" (though this is a slightly remixed version from the "Snakes on Ice" CD). Also recorded in The Grey Yonder, this was about trying to sleep during the daytime while working night shifts in a donut shop (see an early draft of the words, above, written illicitly while on the job). Just when I'd finally begin drifting to sleep, the guy downstairs would blast his bad techno at top volume and my bed would literally begin to shake.
PS: Synchronicity! "Hot Comfort, Small Comfort" is mostly based around samples from Frida ("Comfort Me") and Agnetha ("The Heat is On.") See the post about ABBA, below. ABBA was my obsessive solice while living in The Grey Yonder.
Both songs were recorded on cassette 4-track. "September" is pretty much a free-form composition (with an additional two tracks layered on afterward), while "Hot Comfort, Small Comfort" was sequenced on a nutty Yamaha QX-21.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Keeping Cool
We're deep in a hot, muggy period in Kitchener, the first test of the hot, cold, active, and stagnant areas of my new apartment. By keeping the lights off and building a chain of fans on the second floor I can create a nice column of moving air from west to east, even if the air isn't necessarily cool.
My cat's paws are extraordinarily hot and she likes to put them on my arms while she's sleeping. Otherwise she spends much of her time behind the TV set, which is on the first floor and therefore cooler. Up here on the second floor I find myself bumbling around in the dark a lot. When working in my "Little Lemuria" music studio I do my best to tune the fans out and have as few pieces of equipment running as possible.
One way to beat the heat? Sleep in the afternoon! I decided to take a short nap and ended up sleeping deeply for four hours. Now I'm awake and it's relatively cool (or rather "no longer stifling") and I'm thinking it would be nice to go out on the balcony and sit with the cat.
Some ways to stay cool when you're a pedestrian:
My cat's paws are extraordinarily hot and she likes to put them on my arms while she's sleeping. Otherwise she spends much of her time behind the TV set, which is on the first floor and therefore cooler. Up here on the second floor I find myself bumbling around in the dark a lot. When working in my "Little Lemuria" music studio I do my best to tune the fans out and have as few pieces of equipment running as possible.
One way to beat the heat? Sleep in the afternoon! I decided to take a short nap and ended up sleeping deeply for four hours. Now I'm awake and it's relatively cool (or rather "no longer stifling") and I'm thinking it would be nice to go out on the balcony and sit with the cat.
Some ways to stay cool when you're a pedestrian:
- Walk slightly slower than normal; the more humid air you breathe in, the more exhausted you get.
- Plot your route so that you avoid reflective and radiating surfaces (ashphalt, glass, steel) and, instead, walk through places with lots of grass. Hell, just walk on the grass, even if they tell you not to! Blame it on the city planners.
- Love each and every tree you walk under. Their shade is essential.
- Stay away from cars; they're sources of heat and bad air.
- Drink something cold as you walk.
Monday, March 12, 2007
A Diabetic's Sad Cry For Understanding: Lessons in Liver
You might not realize that whenever you're agitated or sick your liver secretes sugar. I'm not sure where the sugar comes from -- it's probably stored inside the liver for just such an occasion, like the bottles of booze you keep for unexpected visitors -- but it ends up in your bloodstream with all the sugars derived from your food...and since you probably have the bonus of automatic insulin production you never even know about it.
This is something I was never told about when I was a kid, but I'd long realized that stress and sickness caused my blood sugar to plateau at an unusually high level. An endocrinologist finally identified the culprit: my liver (AKA "Parker").
A lot of the trouble I have with my blood sugar comes down to Parker's sugar-happy ways. If I get upset about something, or if I feel a bit more stressed than usual at work, I have to assume that more insulin is necessary to bring my blood sugar down again. The problem is that Parker doesn't ALWAYS secrete sugar in response to stress...sometimes he's asleep on the job, so I take the extra insulin, I have an insulin reaction, I eat sugar, Parker might wake up and decide to give me an extra jolt of sugar in the meantime because I'm stressed about my failure to properly anticipate my blood sugar level, and next thing I know I'm a mushy, totally unproductive citizen.
When I'm sick, though, Parker ALWAYS comes through. And what's more this "sick sugar" is apparently difficult to break down, because I can spend hours topping up my insulin...with absolutely NO effect whatsoever, at which point I become frustrated, inject massive amounts of insulin, and end up being unable to sleep and writing blog entries about Pierre Berton when I should be resting up and getting healthy.
So next time you get sick, or somebody cuts you off in traffic: give a thought to YOUR liver. You don't have any nerves in there so you can't tell what it's doing, but take it from me: it's injecting sugar into your bloodstream, just to annoy you.
This is something I was never told about when I was a kid, but I'd long realized that stress and sickness caused my blood sugar to plateau at an unusually high level. An endocrinologist finally identified the culprit: my liver (AKA "Parker").
A lot of the trouble I have with my blood sugar comes down to Parker's sugar-happy ways. If I get upset about something, or if I feel a bit more stressed than usual at work, I have to assume that more insulin is necessary to bring my blood sugar down again. The problem is that Parker doesn't ALWAYS secrete sugar in response to stress...sometimes he's asleep on the job, so I take the extra insulin, I have an insulin reaction, I eat sugar, Parker might wake up and decide to give me an extra jolt of sugar in the meantime because I'm stressed about my failure to properly anticipate my blood sugar level, and next thing I know I'm a mushy, totally unproductive citizen.
When I'm sick, though, Parker ALWAYS comes through. And what's more this "sick sugar" is apparently difficult to break down, because I can spend hours topping up my insulin...with absolutely NO effect whatsoever, at which point I become frustrated, inject massive amounts of insulin, and end up being unable to sleep and writing blog entries about Pierre Berton when I should be resting up and getting healthy.
So next time you get sick, or somebody cuts you off in traffic: give a thought to YOUR liver. You don't have any nerves in there so you can't tell what it's doing, but take it from me: it's injecting sugar into your bloodstream, just to annoy you.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
My New Digs: Low Frequencies
Well, there's no getting around it; low frequencies travel through this building like poop through a duck. A cupboard door being closed in the other unit's kitchen is an audible thump in my bedroom.
I can filter out the higher-frequencies -- like talking -- with a somewhat noisy fan, but I can't think of anything to stop the fact that when one of my neighbours comes home at 10pm, makes herself some food, and takes a bath...well, I can hear (and FEEL) her thumping around until she retires to her room. Which may be anywhere from 11pm to 1am.
Right now this is keeping me awake.
What's my solution? Bear with me here, there's a lot of variables. And I want to make it clear that this is me "trying to understand and solve the problem," not "whining."
I can hardly tell people not to move around after 10pm; if I worked nights and somebody asked me not to open cupboards and doors when I got home...well, I'd think they were nuts. Though my neighbour could stand to be a bit more CAREFUL with her movements after 10pm -- pushing the cupboards shut instead of knocking them shut, for instance -- I don't want to suggest such a thing right now. It would seem like a demand or a lecture (unless I can find some way to speak with them long enough to "ease" the suggestion in, rather than just march over and say "stop it").
I don't think that BLOCKING the sounds is feasible; a big box fan might work (my old one is so rattly by now that I'll need to get it replaced), or maybe some other kind of polite noise-maker could cancel out the thumps. Structural soundproofing isn't something I can do without landlord initiative, and even if they would do it I think it's hopeless: the structure of the house itself is a conduit for these noises, it seems.
I could change my schedule. Normally I try to get to sleep by 9:30pm, and get up by 7am. I've spent a lifetime trying to figure out how to sleep properly, but I HAVE heard (and garnered some evidence) that people can manage just as well (if not better) with 6 hours of sleep. Though that might not be me.
Strangely, my last apartment suffered a different structural problem: the ceiling creaked horribly. I could hear every footstep in the apartment above me, and I can remember many late nights being unable to sleep -- or being woken up -- by the folks upstairs walking around late at night or (worse) having vigorous, regular sex.
But somehow THIS noise is affecting me more, either because it's a DIFFERENT sort of noise -- maybe it's vibrating my bed, slightly -- or because I'm not fully "at home" yet.
All of which forces me to acknowledge that I have a lower threshold for noise than some people do. For that reason I have no idea if THIS degree of noise is abnormal and therefore "something which MUST be stopped or fixed." This also means that I might be able to get used to the noise...and for what it's worth, my neighbours are so far SAINTS when it comes to making noise. I just wish they worked 9-5 like I do...
The other variable is blood sugar (as always). My blood sugar often rises as I'm sleeping, which happens to certain diabetics. If it rises (or lowers) to a certain point I become edgy, sensitive, and I have a lot of trouble sleeping. This is difficult because if I fall asleep at an ideal blood sugar, chances are my neighbour coming home will wake me up...at which point I'll have a higher blood sugar, and I'll need to lower it again before I can reach a good "sleep state." This is my problem right now: my neighbour's been silent for half an hour but I'm still "wound up." Not to mention I'm afraid to try to sleep, begin to drift off, and then be thumped awake again.
It's always good to have a plan, so here is mine. I'm going to just keep on and see how it goes. Chances are I'll get used to it eventually, the same way I (sort of) got used to the creaking ceiling. If this situation disrupts my life to the point where I'm a total wreck, well, I'm paying rent by the month so I can always find another place. Which would suck.
In the meantime, maybe I could get a foam pad for under the futon, to dull any vibrations that might be making it sound worse. Or try a box fan. Or earplugs. Or yoga!
I can filter out the higher-frequencies -- like talking -- with a somewhat noisy fan, but I can't think of anything to stop the fact that when one of my neighbours comes home at 10pm, makes herself some food, and takes a bath...well, I can hear (and FEEL) her thumping around until she retires to her room. Which may be anywhere from 11pm to 1am.
Right now this is keeping me awake.
What's my solution? Bear with me here, there's a lot of variables. And I want to make it clear that this is me "trying to understand and solve the problem," not "whining."
I can hardly tell people not to move around after 10pm; if I worked nights and somebody asked me not to open cupboards and doors when I got home...well, I'd think they were nuts. Though my neighbour could stand to be a bit more CAREFUL with her movements after 10pm -- pushing the cupboards shut instead of knocking them shut, for instance -- I don't want to suggest such a thing right now. It would seem like a demand or a lecture (unless I can find some way to speak with them long enough to "ease" the suggestion in, rather than just march over and say "stop it").
I don't think that BLOCKING the sounds is feasible; a big box fan might work (my old one is so rattly by now that I'll need to get it replaced), or maybe some other kind of polite noise-maker could cancel out the thumps. Structural soundproofing isn't something I can do without landlord initiative, and even if they would do it I think it's hopeless: the structure of the house itself is a conduit for these noises, it seems.
I could change my schedule. Normally I try to get to sleep by 9:30pm, and get up by 7am. I've spent a lifetime trying to figure out how to sleep properly, but I HAVE heard (and garnered some evidence) that people can manage just as well (if not better) with 6 hours of sleep. Though that might not be me.
Strangely, my last apartment suffered a different structural problem: the ceiling creaked horribly. I could hear every footstep in the apartment above me, and I can remember many late nights being unable to sleep -- or being woken up -- by the folks upstairs walking around late at night or (worse) having vigorous, regular sex.
But somehow THIS noise is affecting me more, either because it's a DIFFERENT sort of noise -- maybe it's vibrating my bed, slightly -- or because I'm not fully "at home" yet.
All of which forces me to acknowledge that I have a lower threshold for noise than some people do. For that reason I have no idea if THIS degree of noise is abnormal and therefore "something which MUST be stopped or fixed." This also means that I might be able to get used to the noise...and for what it's worth, my neighbours are so far SAINTS when it comes to making noise. I just wish they worked 9-5 like I do...
The other variable is blood sugar (as always). My blood sugar often rises as I'm sleeping, which happens to certain diabetics. If it rises (or lowers) to a certain point I become edgy, sensitive, and I have a lot of trouble sleeping. This is difficult because if I fall asleep at an ideal blood sugar, chances are my neighbour coming home will wake me up...at which point I'll have a higher blood sugar, and I'll need to lower it again before I can reach a good "sleep state." This is my problem right now: my neighbour's been silent for half an hour but I'm still "wound up." Not to mention I'm afraid to try to sleep, begin to drift off, and then be thumped awake again.
It's always good to have a plan, so here is mine. I'm going to just keep on and see how it goes. Chances are I'll get used to it eventually, the same way I (sort of) got used to the creaking ceiling. If this situation disrupts my life to the point where I'm a total wreck, well, I'm paying rent by the month so I can always find another place. Which would suck.
In the meantime, maybe I could get a foam pad for under the futon, to dull any vibrations that might be making it sound worse. Or try a box fan. Or earplugs. Or yoga!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Couldn't Sleep Then...
Last night at 1:00am I was still reading Vladimir Nabokov's "Speak, Memory." A typical night of insomnia, for a lot of reasons.
Reading Nabokov's vivid memories of his childhood, I couldn't help falling into my own memories and reflections. Before I knew it I was composing my own "Speak, Muffy" blog entry about sleeplessness and dreams and exhausting mental exercises. I was too afraid to start writing it then -- for reasons that I'll get into eventually -- and even now I'm a little worried about starting it, partly because "Speak, Muffy" can't be one tenth as good as "Speak, Memory," partly because I didn't have any colourful governesses to make fun of. But I'll write it down anyway.
First blog entry: childhood sleeping. I don't remember many childhood details but I DO remember my first nightmare, which probably came after I saw a Disney movie: elephants were dancing in a circle and they were boiling me in a pot. I also remember a recurring dream about falling down a groundhog hole which would jerk me suddenly awake.
I don't remember being afraid of the dark but I must have been because I couldn't sleep without a nightlight burning. This nightlight was a fake brass lantern -- made out of some cheap gold-coloured metal -- that hung over my bed.
I was always convinced that a monster would crawl onto my bed while I slept so I developed an early-warning system: lying flat on my back I'd spread my stuffed animals in a line just below my neck, with their tails tightly gripped in my hand. When the monster came, I figured, the stuffed animals would see it first...then I could quickly push myself under the covers and drag the stuffed animals after me. I was most worried that my plush vanguard would fall victim to the monster meant for me, hence the grip on their tails.
I was sympathetic towards inanimate objects. I believed they were lonely. At night sometimes I'd notice an object -- a pencil maybe -- left lying unprotected and exposed on the bedside table. Too afraid to save it (which would mean letting go of all the tails and leaving my upper body vulnerable), I'd shut my eyes and imagine a secret door that would open up and swallow the pencil, dropping it down to some safe place under the covers with me.
The monster would no doubt come out of an attic trap door in the hallway ceiling, just outside my bedroom door, though when we moved to New Hamburg the monster was definitely in the closet, very tall and folded up.
My basic problem, though, was a constant stream of mental words that never seemed to stop. Sentences would pop into my head and repeat themselves, gradually evolving into curious phrases and ideas that I could never quite get a grasp on. I'd worry endlessly about anything that might happen tomorrow: maybe some kid would get angry at me and hit me, or I might get hit by a car. Likewise I might find lots of money, and what would I buy with that money? I'd imagine every branching possibility, I'd make sentences out of the things I imagined, I'd think about the letters in the sentences and what sort of punctuation they'd end with. I'd repeat the letters to myself and make new sentences out of them. Two hours later I'd still be awake, thinking nonsense.
I went through a terrible phase when I was convinced that fungus would grow on me while I slept. It seems like a weird phobia to have, but show "Creepshow" to a small child, then follow it up with "The Seeds of Doom," and you'll end up with a very scared kid. Anyway, I'd lie awake imagining how I'd feel as I was slowly transformed into some kind of child-sized walking fungus. My sleeping problem became so bad that my parents finally noticed it, and my father -- who I bet has the same difficulty sleeping -- told me that the human mind is like a monkey, sometimes it needs to be caged up to keep it from wandering around and destroying things.
So I got the idea of visualizing things...imagining a literal monkey and building a cage around it. Sometimes I'd count sheep, straining to visualize them as vividly as possible. I came up with the idea of writing numbers on a mental chalkboard, from 99 to 1, imagining each action of picking up the chalk, drawing a loop and a tail for one nine, doing the same for the other, putting the chalk down, picking up the eraser. Then I started constructing hotels, beaches, underground sanctuaries in my head, forcing myself to dwell on every tiny detail. My idea was to discipline the constant flow of words that went through my head, and also to exhaust myself by spending an hour on mental gymnastics.
Usually it worked, but as I've gotten older I've tried to look more closely at how these mental games work and why I have so much trouble sleeping in the first place...
Reading Nabokov's vivid memories of his childhood, I couldn't help falling into my own memories and reflections. Before I knew it I was composing my own "Speak, Muffy" blog entry about sleeplessness and dreams and exhausting mental exercises. I was too afraid to start writing it then -- for reasons that I'll get into eventually -- and even now I'm a little worried about starting it, partly because "Speak, Muffy" can't be one tenth as good as "Speak, Memory," partly because I didn't have any colourful governesses to make fun of. But I'll write it down anyway.
First blog entry: childhood sleeping. I don't remember many childhood details but I DO remember my first nightmare, which probably came after I saw a Disney movie: elephants were dancing in a circle and they were boiling me in a pot. I also remember a recurring dream about falling down a groundhog hole which would jerk me suddenly awake.
I don't remember being afraid of the dark but I must have been because I couldn't sleep without a nightlight burning. This nightlight was a fake brass lantern -- made out of some cheap gold-coloured metal -- that hung over my bed.
I was always convinced that a monster would crawl onto my bed while I slept so I developed an early-warning system: lying flat on my back I'd spread my stuffed animals in a line just below my neck, with their tails tightly gripped in my hand. When the monster came, I figured, the stuffed animals would see it first...then I could quickly push myself under the covers and drag the stuffed animals after me. I was most worried that my plush vanguard would fall victim to the monster meant for me, hence the grip on their tails.
I was sympathetic towards inanimate objects. I believed they were lonely. At night sometimes I'd notice an object -- a pencil maybe -- left lying unprotected and exposed on the bedside table. Too afraid to save it (which would mean letting go of all the tails and leaving my upper body vulnerable), I'd shut my eyes and imagine a secret door that would open up and swallow the pencil, dropping it down to some safe place under the covers with me.
The monster would no doubt come out of an attic trap door in the hallway ceiling, just outside my bedroom door, though when we moved to New Hamburg the monster was definitely in the closet, very tall and folded up.
My basic problem, though, was a constant stream of mental words that never seemed to stop. Sentences would pop into my head and repeat themselves, gradually evolving into curious phrases and ideas that I could never quite get a grasp on. I'd worry endlessly about anything that might happen tomorrow: maybe some kid would get angry at me and hit me, or I might get hit by a car. Likewise I might find lots of money, and what would I buy with that money? I'd imagine every branching possibility, I'd make sentences out of the things I imagined, I'd think about the letters in the sentences and what sort of punctuation they'd end with. I'd repeat the letters to myself and make new sentences out of them. Two hours later I'd still be awake, thinking nonsense.
I went through a terrible phase when I was convinced that fungus would grow on me while I slept. It seems like a weird phobia to have, but show "Creepshow" to a small child, then follow it up with "The Seeds of Doom," and you'll end up with a very scared kid. Anyway, I'd lie awake imagining how I'd feel as I was slowly transformed into some kind of child-sized walking fungus. My sleeping problem became so bad that my parents finally noticed it, and my father -- who I bet has the same difficulty sleeping -- told me that the human mind is like a monkey, sometimes it needs to be caged up to keep it from wandering around and destroying things.
So I got the idea of visualizing things...imagining a literal monkey and building a cage around it. Sometimes I'd count sheep, straining to visualize them as vividly as possible. I came up with the idea of writing numbers on a mental chalkboard, from 99 to 1, imagining each action of picking up the chalk, drawing a loop and a tail for one nine, doing the same for the other, putting the chalk down, picking up the eraser. Then I started constructing hotels, beaches, underground sanctuaries in my head, forcing myself to dwell on every tiny detail. My idea was to discipline the constant flow of words that went through my head, and also to exhaust myself by spending an hour on mental gymnastics.
Usually it worked, but as I've gotten older I've tried to look more closely at how these mental games work and why I have so much trouble sleeping in the first place...
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