Solving life's mysteries one anxiety ridden night at a time...

Y'all. I'm pissed. PIIISSSSSED. It's 4am here in (I can't even say sunny because it's still before the buttcrack of dawn) Florida and I've been up for two, count em, TWO mother-f'in hours.

WHISKEY.

TANGO.

FOXTROT?

This week alone I've taken Valium. I've taken Klonopin. I've taken Vistaril. I've taken Dramamine. 

NOTHING. KEEPS ME. ASLEEP. 

I'm on the verge of breaking Conrad Murray outta jail and asking for the Michael Jackson special (Not the death part. Good Lord, y'all. I heart myself too much!) I just want the sleepy juice. Propophol: Come to Mama!

On the plus side of things, my house is nice and clean. After I abandoned all hope of going back to sleep, I got up and swiffered the floors, dusted, picked up my closet, wiped down the kitchen counters, loaded the dishwasher and coordinated my jewelry. 

I also discovered the answers to a few of life's great mysteries. If you'd prefer to suffer and solve these on your own, I won't be offended if you stop reading now. If you'd like to make me feel like my anxiety is actually somewhat productive, by all means, please forge ahead.  

Mystery #1: "How does one have enough time and energy to do herself up like a Kardashian at the NBA Draft?"

Answer: (***SPOILER ALERT***) One doesn't frickin sleep. I might feel like poo, but my hair's gone be did, my juuury gone be coordinated, my DSW Steve Maddens gone be spiffed up, my makeup's gone be perfect... BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO DO.

Mystery #2: "What do you do when there aren't enough hours in the day to do it all?"

Answer: (***SPOILER ALERT***) You don't frickin sleep. House? Clean. Laundry? Done. Checkbook? Balanced. Car? Detailed. (<--- don't ask) 

I'd keep going, but I think you get the drift. The answer to getting it all done is OCD induced insomnia. 

You're welcome.