I will spend hours upon hours Friday night looking over documents. I will pore over reams of documents searching for the perfect solution to my problems. Taxes? Nope. It’s time for my fantasy baseball draft.
This is serious business. Sure, there is money at stake, but I’m not as worried about that as I am about undoing the past two years.
I love sleep. Nothing feels better than curling up in a warm bed and drifting off. But something has changed about sleep as I get older. I generally wake up four or five times a night. I glance at the clock, figure out how much longer I have until I need to wake up, then fall right back asleep. I get a lot of sleep, but it is broken into smaller segments.
I probably should be more worried about my sleeping habits, but I don’t feel overly tired so I just let it slide. I actually should be mad because I have never had sleeping problems in the past.
I took my daughter over to a friend’s house the other day for a “play day.” We can’t say “playdate” in our house. Bridget had decided that the proper term is “play day” and doesn’t like when someone says “playdate.” That’s fine with me because I think the term is overused.
But that’s not the point. She didn’t just get to have a good time with a classmate that day. I came down with a bad case of basement envy.
I recently read a story about some inventor who has taken drastic steps to try and live forever.
He takes 250 supplements every day. He drinks 8 to 10 glasses of water each day and just as many cups of green tea. He does batteries of tests to check how he is doing and makes diet adjustments accordingly.
All of this, Ray Kurzwell says, will hopefully help him live long enough to see human immortality become a reality.
While I admire scientific minds that dream of the impossible – I would rather he would put his efforts toward improvements in television technology though – I have just one question for the man who wants to live forever.
Where do you plan to put all your stuff?