I'd love to show you stitching. Really. I would. But there is NONE to show since I had to undergo/endure a sleep study last night. I am living proof that you can, in fact, fail at almost anything if you try hard enough.
I arrived at the appointed time of 7:30 pm with pillows and stitching bag in hand, as well as the semi-new pajamas that are semi-decent enough for public consumption. (Am I the only person on the planet that pulls scraps of material out of the dryer that should go immediately into the rag bin, but decides that they're "good enough to sleep in"?) If my house ever catches on fire, I'll be the one clutching a raincoat around me trying to hide the 15-year old t-shirt and bike shorts ensemble that I used to wear when working out. And since it's been at LEAST 15 years since I've worked out, you can imagine the state of my night wear.
Chrissy told me that I would just sit there and watch movies and stitch until it was time to get hooked up for bed. Nope. Not THIS sleep lab. Within 10 minutes of putting my fanny in the green pleather recliner, I was scrubbed, pasted, and attached to wires and probes and sensors. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, and, most tragically, I couldn't stitch.
So I sat in the pleather recliner and pouted while flipping through the six channels on the TeeVee set. I will confess that three of the channels were broadcasting the RNC convention, so I did manage to catch about 3/4 of Sara Palin's speech. (Am I the only person who thinks she looks like an Entertainment Tonight correspondent?) Now if you're looking for me to start talking politics, sorry, kids. I would rather show you pics from my latest colonoscopy than get into any discussion of politcs, religion, sex, drugs, rock 'n roll, or the general state of affairs at my local Target store. I'm just not gonna' do it, but thanks for asking.
At 11:45 ON THE DOT, my new BFF Joanne came in to tell me it was time for bed. So I did a pitiful attempt at my nightly ablutions and headed back into the bedroom for what I assumed would be a pleasant 10 or 11 hours of shut-eye.
Here's a summary:
J: OK, Coni, into bed so I can hook you up. That's a good girl now. Just let me attach all of this stuff to the monitors and you'll be on your way.
ME: OK. I'm usually a really good patient for almost anything you have to do to me, so I'm sure this will be easy.
J: All hooked up now, dear. Now just make sure to sleep on your back and I'll come in and wake you up at six.
ME: My back? I'm sorry, but did you say sleep on my back?
J: Yes, you have to so that we can get a good test.
ME: Joanne, you've got a better shot at watching me pole vault this building than you do of even getting me onto my back, let alone getting me to sleep that way. I don't DO back.
J: Well, you're going to have to try. Now close your eyes and go to sleep.
ME: But I can't! I can't lay on my back! And what's that red light blinking at me on the ceiling?
J: That's the camera.
ME: You mean you want me to try to sleep on my back and then you're going to WATCH me try to sleep on my back!!!!
J: Yes, now go to sleep.
ME: I NEED VALIUM! I NEED AN ATTORNEY! I NEED MY STEWEY! I CAN'T SLEEP ON MY BACK! DON'T YOU PEOPLE WATCH ANIMAL PLANET! HAVEN'T YOU EVER SEEN WHAT HAPPENS TO THOSE POOR UNSUSPECTING TURTLES OF THE GALAPAGOS ISLANDS OR WHERE EVER THEY'RE FROM, I CAN'T REMEMBNER, BUT HAVENT' YOU EVER SEEN THOSE POOR THINGS FLIP OVER ONTO THEIR BACKS AND THEN DIE!!!!??????
J: You're not a turtle, dear. Now go to sleep.
I won't bore you with the next six hours because a) they involved a lot of swearing and finger pointing (hey, if they were going to watch me lay there helplessly I figured I'd put at least ONE finger to good use) and b) I am so ashamed that I wasn't able to do a basic human function for six lousy hours that I need to go hit myself in the head with a rock.
Needless to say, it was a LOOOOOOOONG night and I swear, as God is my witness, I will never go near a sleep lab again so long as I live, so help me God, as I live and breathe, etc. etc. etc.
So that's why there's no stitchy pics today, and that's why Stewey and I are headed for the sleigh bed for the next week or so to do some much-needed commiserating that Mommie had to go through such an awful trauma and nobody wants to give her any sympathy whatsoever. Sniff sniff. Sigh.
A lovely stitchy friend reader pointed out that I have not talked about my necessary. So sorry, Kathy. I do promise that my next post will be all about it.
So, goodnight, Cleveland. If I'm not back in a week or so, please send a Starbucks and my stitchy bag. I'm in for the duration.