I get Detective Murtaugh now. I couldn't before, but now that I'm 45, I completely understand him. Plus, I think he must have been some kind of super human. How could he possibly do all he did with Martin Riggs, a man a good 15 years his junior, and not DIE from it? How did he not actually DIE? I can't even pull an all-nighter - without teetering on death. I used to have an amazing bounce back rate... when I was 22. Cripes, last night I stayed up until 11:30 p.m. and when I dragged my sorry ass out of bed at 7:25 this morning, I thought I might die. Stuck in the middle of a sleep cycle, my brain needed a major reboot.
Now, I'm looking for my quick fix. The bag of real coffee in the cupboard is calling to me. Its siren voice had me stumbling towards it, before I remembered that caffeine is terrible for peri-menopausal women and I don't want to fall into its deliciously invigorating trap. 'Cept it'd be so much easier than coming out of this on my own.
I'm rehearsing for a play. I've had to beg the other production members to reschedule end times of rehearsals - that is how pathetic I am. "I can barely function after 9:00 p.m. Please, I am begging you, can we start at 7:00 p.m. and just go to 10:00?!? PLEASE?" And even now, if you were to take pictures of me during the last 45 minutes of rehearsal, you would find me in various states of yawn.
I used to laugh at my Mom when she would try to read a book in her Lazy-Boy. It seemed like all she had to do was lift the book and crack its spine before she was zonko.
"Do you want me to just wave it over your head Mom? Might accomplish the same thing."
"You watch it! This'll come back to bite you!"
Last night? As I was struggling to study my lines? The seconds between blinks grew longer and longer until I dropped the play on my face. ON MY FREAKING FACE!!! Yet another thing I can't do in bed like I used to!