Guest Blog: Midnight Rambles |
Midnight Rambles
By Christy Ilfrey
Early in my pregnancy I bragged to anyone who asked about how easy it’s been for me. No morning sickness, no sharp u-turns in my emotions. I feel better than at any other point in my life. I feel vibrant and healthy, even-tempered and happy. But recently Nature has played a joke on me. I might not experience the most common symptoms of pregnancy, but I certainly can say, without question, I am becoming a crazy pregnant woman.
For the past week I have been waking up around 3am. Some of my friends with kids (whom I refer to as ‘The Breeders’) explain this as the Worrying Symptom. During their pregnancies, they would wake up in the middle of the night worrying about money or what kind of mother they would be. My situation is a little different. I don’t worry, I ramble.
My midnight rambles start on one topic, meander to another and another, joining seamlessly several completely unrelated topics into one flowing stream. Finally I fall asleep again, and at last when I get out of bed I’m a little groggy from all the restless thought-activity. I find myself fixated on, on the brink of obsessing about, subjects that really don’t warrant all this thought. Often I find I’ve remembered the details incorrectly and the rambling was unnecessary. Insane.
Take yesterday, for example. My midnight ramble ended with bills. Personal bills as well as our business’ bills. I kept thinking they were due yesterday, or late. Oh my gosh, I can’t pay that one late. Not that one either. Oh no. Should I get up right now, at 3:24am, and pay them online? Or should I write the checks and drive in my jammies to the post office right away? No, that won’t do. They will still be late. I know! I’ll hand-deliver them to each office before they open. That’ll work! Wait. One is in California, another in Washington. No, no, that won’t do. That won’t do, at all.
Eventually my heart stopped racing and I was back to dreaming crazy things (which I’ll address at another time.) When I finally lugged my sluggish body out of bed and looked at the two or three bills-to-be-paid, I discovered all are due next week. I can mail them tomorrow, or Thursday, for that matter. I have plenty of time. I had rushed off on a ramble-journey with the wrong road map.
One night I kept thinking about an acquaintance who is getting married. I don’t know her well, but I remembered when I knew a few years ago she was married. She is ecstatic about her upcoming wedding, and I didn’t want to be the Debbie Downer asking about what had happened with her previous husband. For what seemed like hours I rambled back to the last conversation I had with her. I scoured all the details I could remember about her life then. I had to know the scoop. Why, I have no idea. But I had to know so I contacted a mutual friend. Fortunately my friend – one of The Breeders – understood my need-to-know and calmed my restless, rambling mind.
Another night I thought about my bookshelf. How would I display my precious treasures? Would they fit? Which books would I put there, and which ones on the office shelf? In no time I had sketched out a system I was sure would work. The next morning – still in my jammies, hair in knots and teeth unbrushed – I pulled all the books. I stacked them according to subject matter. On a scrap piece of paper I drew a diagram of the bookshelf and labeled each shelf. Books full of outdated information and all the self-help books I had picked up from a freecycler were tossed into a bag en route for Half Price Books. I had whittled down my collection to just the essentials, just the antique hardbacks and modern reference books I cherish like gold (or sleeping through the night.) I showed my diagram proudly to my husband. Politely he congratulated me on my work, for putting so much thought into my project. Elated, I set out to implement my plan.
Later in the day I recruited my husband to help me set up the bookshelf in the office. His job was to retrieve them from the neat stacks on the floor and lift them overhead onto the shelf. My job was to hold the books in place to prevent them from falling on our heads. We completed this task so successfully that I rambled that night about organizing the rest of the office. Printer paper, laminating pouches, paid invoices to be filed—you name it, it needed a permanent home. Before he could take his first sip of coffee, I presented him with my “plan” for setting right all things in our office universe. Again, he praised me for hatching such a brilliant scheme. He agreed that indeed we could do nothing constructive with our lives until we could make room for more client files. Beginning precisely at that moment, we had a mission: to purge old newsletters, owners’ guides for appliances long-ago freecycled and cash receipts dating back to when grunge reigned supreme. Of course he was eager to haul a truckload of trash and recyclables to their appropriate depositories. Absolutely, he found my new filing system fascinating.
Imagine his delight when I announced the next morning we were going to work on his closet. Outdated clothes? Gone. Doesn’t fit? Stained? Rips or tears? Gone, gone, gone. Then I shared with him the high-brow art of arranging clothes by type then by color. Casual to formal, or vice-versa, then light to dark. Our lifestyle allows for more casual attire, so I instructed him to hang t-shirts in front, then short-sleeve shirts, followed by long-sleeve shirts and pants. Jeans first, then khakis and finally corduroys. Within each category, I whispered gleefully, your collection should be viewed from light colors to dark. Look at your tees: white is in front, then tan, blue, green, grey and black. Do you see? He nodded, mystified by my genius. Still under my spell, he followed me to my closet to apply his newfound knowledge.
I don’t know what brings about these midnight ramblings, but my house certainly is organized, I’m caught up with all my friends, and all my bills are paid. Early, even. |
Christy Ilfrey |
| About the author: |
| Christy Tinsley-Ilfrey is an entrepreneur, gardener, eco-goddess; a wife, mother-to-be, daughter, sister; but mostly she sees herself as a writer. Someday, she hopes to become a really good one. Read more about her and by her at http://greenqueendom.blogspot.com or contact her at
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