Circadian Fluid

Everything is just a copy of a copy of a copy

Image by Gilbatree Art Designer

I wrote this Sunday, ended up on a rabbit trail, and posted that part yesterday instead.

I went to bed at 3:33a yesterday, which I saw thrice because the kitchen stove is set a little fast to “oh shit!” me through my morning routine (despite understanding basic math). The real one took longer than anticipated to pass on my phone.

I’ve just admitted my squirrel-ass will pick up a phone twice in under a minute.

Or that I can bend time.

Definitely at least one of those.

I got into bed about the same time the morning before and was at work by 9. *Jazz hands* (Imagine if I drank REAL coffee?).

Yesterday, I “slept in” and woke up at 8:30. We left by 11:30 for errands but had way too much fun/a long fabric cutting line at JoAnne’s and also the Dollar store (I know, I know, more on that in a minute) hit traffic in Issaquah and almost missed the farmer’s market. I know my way around town (Grandma lived there when my oldest was born, and the work PO box I check once a week is there), hung some bitches, turned around in some parking lots, and wheedled around the backups like the bold, beautiful, non-lemming I am.

Pay attention to traffic patterns where you travel. If you know things open up (a new lane or something coming) you’ll know you can go around the left turn lane overflow blocking the center lane to at least get through the next light. My commute used to involve taking the I-5 S Express lanes (that did not connect to 520) from Maple Leaf. It was signifvantly faster to flip around in sodo and get back on going north than to get there going south. as best I can tell the ship canal bridge mainline of I-5 S is fucked 24x7.

People will sit gridlocked because their driving app told them to, when the next block over has no traffic at all. Maybe they like traffic more than I do. I don’t like feeling trapped in anyone’s company.

We had time for flowers (I came for those) and crepes, which we enjoyed under a willow tree by Pickering Barn. The music was good.

I used to DJ at Farmer’s Markets, KCLS Reading, and Children’s parties. My ex works for KCLS so those gigs never materialized for me after Covid. I did make referrals for other DJs over the years before doing nearly a whole series myself. They paid okay (better than drink tickets) so I hope it’s resumed for someone.

Ex is a hoarder and had our youngest addicted to yard sales, Goodwill, and Dollar Tree. It is a struggle (and not AT ALL triggering for me) that her room wants to look like what he did to my old home and what she became accustomed to when I was no longer granted access to clean it.

I don’t need any more questionable crap myself, either. I pulled the trigger on the new decks I needed, which weren’t cheap, so I’m good for years now. I avoid those places hard, with exceptions where it makes sense.

I did a single Goodwill haul of records around 2015 when the kids were at preschool because a DJ’s collection had just come in. MY FAVORITE UK Garage track was a $1 and discovered in that lot. I have purchased whole collections and sections of collections from friends who went digital before I did.

Dollar Tree is for birthday party plates and balloons (Discobaby turns 9 on Tuesday; Sugar Cube turns 14 in October). When the kids were younger, crayons, coloring or activity books, and goodie bag fodder, too, it’s ALL cheap shit from China; why pay the markup to get it from a less embarrassing discount crap store? It’s clean; the new staff is also friendly; they had cotton candy-scented play dough this time!

It moved next door to the fabric store and got less trashy. Everything is $1.25 (they are going to add $3 and $5 bins like Target and walmarche), and it’s name-brand shit now. It should also become my go-to for stuff like razors and dish soap. Discobaby picked out a knock-off Barbie in a canoe. We’ve been really broke for a while, I had to feel like a dick saying no overpriced pistachios over summer. I can afford to be generous at the dollar store. That doll was naked ass up passed out over her canoe on the bathroom counter this morning, reminding me what I thought when she picked it, but there were too many people around to say, then I forgot:

Oh! Black Barbie, Bam a lam a lam!

When I realized my boss was coming home on Sunday, I planned to leave flowers and balloons at the house instead. This probably saved me $100 over having something standard delivered (and I got to have crepes at the farmer’s market). If he was still in care, I would have sent the thing.

There is an intersection of “cheap” and “logical.” I’m still on a modest 3-month introductory wage that I’m not sure if my boss is cognitively able to correct in 11 days (90 for me) as he is still struggling to communicate.

Yes, I’m running the company with his kid.

No, I don’t want to make a predatory fuss about it while my boss is vulnerable. I am not one to take advantage.

What I will do is bounce it off the bookkeeper and accountant. Express I’m open to reviewing for the new year and would appreciate retroactive consideration for my flexibility given the circumstances. Let them advise Jr and family what is “fair” and “affordable” at this junction.

It gives us the opportunity to gauge if this is temporary or I’m just the new office grown-up now, or add on some personal assistant shit (he’s going to have a lot of medical appointments in recovery, a customer who recently had a mild stroke just shared).

So I was at Dollar Tree for the vase and balloons.

My 13-year-old theater kid found almost everything she needed for her mermaid Halloween costume. We popped next door for some fabric to finish it off. The line gave me time to sign up for coupons that will bombard me for a year until I remember I’m not overly crafty but saved us 50% on the most expensive thing, and whatever is flooding my inbox now will cover the same routine with my youngest soon, who wants to be a witch or a siren. I didn’t want to run out of time or money before the main objective.

If she’s a witch, imma get a police light to wear on my head and be a damn siren.

Not really. I might be cotton candy or a sugar rush racer. I have fine, waist-long, feisty fuscia hair. In the 80s, I could Siouxie anyone’s hair with a rat tail comb and enough aqua net, but mine was too thick and heavy to stay aloft. With enough conditioner, even playa matting combs out. Go, gadget menopause!

This is how I learned we would not all be “My Singing Monsters” for Halloween this year. It was my idea, but my son wasn’t into it. I’ll survive. My la la la la la la la’s are on point, though and I would have paid good money to see my youngest use her head as a drum. Sigh.

I took the kids to see where I work and play with the dogs while I went into the office to pull a permit for Monday’s job and watered the plants (nobody wants to come home from the hospital to a yard full of dead plants).

I got home from our adventures, ran out on one other errand with my partner, roofied myself with my leftover street tacos from the other night (after assuring there was a whole pizza left over from the night before and everyone would survive) then laid down my gentle head for a cat nap around 7.

Dies laughing.

I remember my partner telling me it was 9:00. He knows I don’t like to go to bed too early because I will often wake up at midnight or 1:00 then be ready for a nap (I won’t take) by the time my responsibilities are awake.

I struggled to grasp, and looked for contextual clues to see if he meant am or pm, or even remember if it was a work day (I’d already be late). I was too tired to care and promptly fell back asleep.

Just pointing out it was Saturday night and I am a DJ. Oh how the mightly have fallen.

Having left my phone in my purse and my work phone to die underneath me in my pocket, once I was convinced I was awake to commit, I opened my laptop to see what time it was.

3:39a.

It’s going to be a long and wonderful day. My weekly radio show is from 7-10p tonight.

I’ll be fine. I’m circadian fluid.

Or as my first husband’s step-dad used to say: I’ll catch up on sleep when I’m dead. “Red, white, and blue electric dollar” was his too.