second-sleep, rude awakening.

facebook status updates, quite simply, are not cutting it anymore.

I arrive at this [most-likely overdramatic] conclusion during my daily hour-and-a-half-waking-up—a sluggish process involving using local tv news morning entertainment show/the price is right as a snooze-button of sorts.

I always wake up early, anywhere between 4 and 7 am. this is the initial, biological, LEARNED waking… from years upon years of staying out late and racing to get to work to make scones or sandwiches for privileged people. i, generally, get up. have a slash. drink some juice. go back to bed. have, what i call [thank you, trixie hobbitses speakings], “second-sleep.” it is during this so-called “second-sleep” that i have extremely vivid dreams: today’s involved floating down the amazon with some kind of explorer team who had just lost 2 experienced divers [product of item in this morning's news, though i don't think it happened in the amazon]. we end up [miraculously] in porto velho [[UPRIVER]]. the water is shallow and dirty, but clear. the team abandons me…or change into my aunt, uncle, two of their kids, my mum and my sisters… details are hazy. some toughgirl local who speaks proper queen’s english [[TOTALLY a product from watching "doctor who" last night where the ancient romans have british accents AND "kill bill vol.2" when beatrix kiddo confronts bill's father figure, esteban... the pimp who cuts his bitches' faces when they go wrong. this girl [who, now that i think of it, looks like a cut-up version of that girl who was in "hamlet 2" and now does a garnier fructisse commercial] is like “is this your knife?’ and i look back in the water, lose my family [or the expedition team... still unclear], and say “yes.” [it is my favourite santoku knife!] i snatch it up and return it to its home in it’s duct-taped sheath. the garnier fructisse chick follows me to my hotel. paranoia ensues. yadda yadda yadda. i mistake my little cousin hiding under the cover of bed i just plop myself down upons in an attempt to show my mum that there’s plenty o’room for my sisters who are being forced to stay in the less-than-savvy part of the hotel, for a the little brother/child/spy/DEMON SPAWN of the fructisse lolita. my aunt and uncle and little cousin end up seeing me in my skivvies sporting morning wood. the end.

then i wake up. …then all the price of right contestents on live/re-run tele have overbid whilst the cat has suddenly discovered some new piece of plastic that crinkles with obnoxious sound. [[not the dream. real life.]] SCENE.

now i know i haven’t written in what appears to be the shorter side of forever… and this hardly seems like a brilliant post… nor does it fill you in on my life [short story: moved to st. paul, lived in a state of obscurity, met my [pretty much-]husband, moved in with him, finish losers/weepers album [it's on iTUNES, now, if you're interested], lost job, won the dole, garden-like-crazy, house repairs, watch tele, live as housewife.] but i ask you, how could “…hates is when second-sleep is cut short by overweight americans’ bad estimations, especially when some shit was about to go down in the amazon,” provide an adequate account? how could people not think, “Wha’ the fah’?!”? how would they ever know it was Porto Velho!? [[it sounds like an enchantingly dodgy place.]] facebook status updates not up to par, anymore.

[[and fuck twitter. what robot-band creator calls "an arms race of narcissism." BRILL. WANT THE SHIRT.]]

point is: less f’book updates, more writing. perhaps, in a different schema. cos i KNOW y’all be droolin’ for “The Real Housewives of Bear Country” blog.

Tags: iniative, melonie diaz, porto velho, price is right, real housewives