As previously stated, Debbie and Brenda have had a good portion of the last week off from work. As previously stated, over and over again, I am an early-morning riser. I am up, nearly without exception, every day at four. This is so because I start watching the clock on and off beginning with the stroke of 2:30...because four seems like a respectable time to rise for the day while 2:30 just seems pitiful and not a little pathetic.

While the insomnia has most certainly gotten worse over the years, I was never a big sleeper. During high school I would be up until 1:00 and be raring to go at 6:00. I was incredibly lucky in school and never really had to apply myself to graduate with high honors. When studies came out a couple years ago that students who got more sleep at night fared better at school, my dear brother looked at me—the dear brother who once spat upon seeing the faded sun-spot-scar on my cheek, "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE!?", mind you—and said, "Wow. You could have really been something special. Who knew?"

So anyway (c'mon you know you ought to expect the tangents by now) I am quite used to being as quiet as a mouse in the mornings while the whole of rationality tangos with the Sandman. So it came to pass this past week as well...my sock-footed whisper upon the kitchen floor, to the coffeemaker, the computer in the spare bedroom. I sip my steamy cuppajoe and scan cnn.com, my favorite blogs, and eventually, if the mood arises, I tickle the keys within the perimeter of my own administration suite.

I'm used to the stillness of those early morning hours. I look forward to the silence, the controlled solitude within which I can actually hear myself think. With my aunts being on vacation, I had grown accustomed to an even longer run of quiet that came with the onset of vacationers' sleep-in syndrome.

We have a high tech coffeemaker (read: too complicated for us to understand at times) that has a supposedly handy "I'm done brewing, come get your coffee!!!" screeching alarm. To be honest, it sounds like somebody just gave it a Brazilian wax moments ago...you can't help but wince with your imagination's journey. Somehow, we've managed to disengage the alarm in the past...but as the brown out of a few days ago caused the appliance to revert to factory settings, the manual having been misplaced long ago, we are in a world of hurt.

As it cried Friday morning, 4:15 sharp, I flinched and dearly hoped it would not disturb my slumbering family. I cared, I really did care, that they were able to take advantage of their vacation...and it is just because I'm completely addicted to coffee that I had to make another pot and let the damn thing sound again at 5:45. I was googling my poor, pathetic runner's toenails when I heard a wisp of air. It was curious, but easy enough to ignore. When my peripheral caught sight of Brenda's purple night shirt, I was duly startled out of my freaking skin.

And, as I launched airborne in my startlement and blistered the walls with my cursing, Brenda looked on in bemusement. "I was being quiet," she said around a grin as the frequency of the swearing lessened, "so that I wouldn't scare you." With that, she padded out to the kitchen to get some of the howling coffeemaker's brew.

It's like a holiday! Yay! I'm so excited I can barely sit still! I am done with work at 11:00 and then! AND THEN! I have a dentist appointment! I guess you'd have to understand the relationship I have with my teeth to understand the thrill. They've been good friends these many years, aiding in many an apple-consumption.

Which reminds me, I picked out some apples the other day, and Nick tried one, finding the texture not to his preference. Nick eats apples with a knife, being too refined for my Mr. Peepers brand of apple-eating. A little hoity-toity, aren't we? Anyway, I fell in love with dating a metrosexual all over again when he told me that there was ¾ths of an apple waiting for me in the refrigerator, in a Ziploc bag.

I later ate the ¾ths apple and told Nick in an email that I didn't think I'd ever be able to enjoy a whole apple ever again, being so enamored with the ¾ths fruit. He volleyed, "you can just eat ¾ths of an apple and toss the rest from now on."

But anyway, my teeth! Today is a holiday for my teeth! We're going to go flossing!—a trick I learned from Brenda...floss just before a cleaning and then when they ask, "Do you floss?" You can lie without really fibbing. And then, after the flossing, we're going to go and get scrubbed and polished and oooh I can barely wait! My teeth are so giddy!

Relating, I saw the funniest, most applicable joke in the paper the other day:

"I have CDO...it's like OCD but only in alphabetical order as it should be.

I'm obsessed with my teeth.

The end.

My Aunt Brenda has the most impressive wardrobe. It's pretty and stylish, and oh so extensive! The night before, she hangs her next day's outfit from a hook in the bathroom and I remark often how I spend my time in that particular room staring at her clothing.

Well, this week she is on vacation, and has not been hanging her frilly whatnots all over the place. I complained the other day that I am finding it difficult using the bathroom at all as there seems to be little reason to enter now that my eyes' feast has been cleared from the table.

This obviously wore on her conscience..."Poor thing can't bear the bathroom without visual distraction!" She sought to rectify the situation immediately...(I guess she was sick of me leaving messes all over the carpet and blaming the cats.)

The lilies of the valley have arrived for the year. These are, hands down, my favorite flower. They are delicately perfect in every way and I am completely smitten. When I lived in North Carolina, Debbie once picked a bouquet from her garden and sent them to me...I was tickled. Last night, as she presented me with the above, I smiled deeply at such a kind gesture. Debbie pays acute attention to her loved ones' pleasures, and surprises them often with "just thinking about you" charm. Thank you, Debbie. I bundled them with a rough twine to contrast with their fragile build and plan to stare at them all day at work. Truly, this is the best part of Spring.

Tonight is golf lesson #2. Being the nerd that I am, I left last week's lesson muttering, "I think I'm going to buy a book." Because, paying for lessons isn't enough of a financial drain for me to feel good about my golf-game-honing ventures. And, being the shopper that she is, Brenda ordered Golfing for Dummies last weekend. See, it's teamwork. I mention something I want, and Brenda buys it. I've managed to coordinate this plan of attack with many an acquaintance over the years, and it seems to work smoothly enough.

I feel really good today, the best I've felt in a long while, but last night was terrible. My stomach was hurting this way and that, and as I massaged my cramping midsection, I watched Brenda practice on the training putting green she ordered with the book, and I had to laugh. She shook her head and joined. "I'm not sure if this will work in our house," she advised, looking to the length of green and the three cats whose curiosities were there applied.

I took a bath and relaxed deeply in the fragrant water with a banana mask. I leafed through my new SHAPE magazine...which I just renewed for two years at a 75%+ savings off of the cover price...Nick's soon-to-be-former roommate received her copy of the magazine on Friday...I didn't receive mine until Monday. I typically leave my laptop at Nick's these days and do my "home surfing" from Brenda's spiffy new Dell. Yesterday, I chatted briefly with Nick and he reported that my Gmail notifier was showing I had new mail before the notifier from Brenda's computer did. I huffed, "Dang it! SHAPE arrives faster to Waunakee...email is delivered faster to Waunakee....WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING IN DEFOREST!?" Nick, who was wryly killing time until his volleyball game, and direly wishing for an electrical storm to cancel the match, confirmed that this was a very good question...I missed you too last evening, Nick.

I'm hoping to meet up with Sarah on Thursday. We seem to have trouble scheduling time. We're (hopefully, if we can get our procrastinating butts in gear...I don't know how many nights we skipped studying in college in favor of girl talk and just plain silliness) taking tennis lessons together later this summer. I possess little to no athletic skill, you see, a situation I would very much like to rectify. I was not an active youngster, and came into my physical prowess after the ripe old age of twenty. I have much ground to make up. Sarah has stomach issues too (I'm sure she loves that I announce that to the world...or the lauralore.com audience...yep, all 3 of you) and there is a sort of bond between people whose bodies have an unparalleled hatred for, you know...food.

Lastly, in this disconnected babble of a post, I bought a flat iron for my hair last night. My stylist said that it would make my hair shiny...and straight. Though I had my doubts, I have to say I'm impressed with this easy process and I actually got my hair to look like the salon got it to look the other night. I have a head of hair that sits on the fence in the curly/straight debate. The grass is always greener, they say...indeed, as a young girl with hair so thick I used to loose bobby pins only to find them weeks later, I was envious of the girls with flat hair. I say to you now, as a stockholder in volumizing shampoo lines who spends hours a night praying to the Vidal Sassoon Gods to let me lose not a strand more of my locks, thick hair really isn't so very bad.

I went back to the hair and day spa last night, the first time in about five months...makes ya cringe, doesn't it? Yes, well I was indeed in a sad state of neglect. My maintenance as of late having left much to be desired, my self confidence following suit.

Sitting in the chair, inhaling the hypnotic fragrances of pampering products of the studio, and reconnecting with that crafty Shampoo Girl, it felt good investing some time in me. I didn't feel nearly as guilty with the process as I was expecting to feel...as I felt when I made the appointment. It is hard to explain, I guess. Nothing seemed important after Mom passed away. Everything seemed cheap.



And, last night, as Nick told me that I was beautiful, I began to feel like a part of me decided to live again...I'm sure it all seems very vain, but it isn't. The ever-growing blanket of "I don't care" was beginning to smother me...and there have been days in past months that have frightened me with their themes of "What's the use?" The thing is, I do care...and I've finally admitted so to myself...reconciling myself too, that my mother wouldn't have had it any other way. "If you're not living, you're dead...which is it gonna be?" she'd demand.

I choose life...I choose liking myself...I choose moving forward.

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Just a quick blurb to finish 'er off:

I walked in the studio last night and my stylist welcomed my return with a bear hug. She said, "Here I thought you found another Salon! But, I can see for myself," she continued around a smirk, "that you just stopped going completely."

The girl knows how to flatter! That's why I tip her the big bucks...and I hope she buys something really wonderful with that 29¢.