The Creative Nest

I recently had one of those moments where I realized there is absolutely no point in denying it anymore—I am squeamish. Not the dramatic, movie-scene kind of squeamish where I faint at the sight of blood or need someone to fan me with a magazine. No, I'm talking about the kind of squeamish where certain conversations make me want to plug my ears, close my eyes, and suddenly remember that I have somewhere else to be. For me, one of those topics is toenails. Yes, toenails. I know they're a perfectly normal part of the human body, and yes, we all have them. That's not the issue. The issue begins when someone decides to tell me the life story of one of their toenails. They'll start innocently enough by saying something like, "You won't believe what happened to my big toe." Right about then, my brain quietly whispers, We're in danger. Before I know it, they're describing every detail, and then comes the sentence that strikes fear into my soul: "Wa...

Am I the only one who likes to have a little fun with spam callers? You know the ones I'm talking about. They call out of nowhere and ask if you've ever thought about selling your house. My first thought is always, "Well, you called me." So instead of immediately hanging up, I sometimes decide to see where the conversation goes. When they ask if I'd be willing to sell, I enthusiastically tell them, "Absolutely!" Then I give them a price that would make even the fanciest mansion blush. Let's say $2 million. There's usually a long pause while they try to figure out whether I'm serious or if they accidentally called the wrong person. Eventually they tell me they were hoping for something a little more reasonable. That's when I explain that every minute they spend trying to negotiate, the price increases by another $5,000. "Oh, it's been another minute. We're at $2,005,000 now." If they keep talking, I keep adding to the t...

Can someone please explain this to me? Seriously. How is it possible to sleep for eight or even nine hours and still wake up feeling like you barely closed your eyes? I thought getting enough sleep was supposed to solve the problem. Instead, I wake up wondering if I accidentally stayed up all night without realizing it. Somewhere along the way, we were all told that adults need around eight hours of sleep. That's supposed to be the magic number, right? Well, I'd like to file a complaint because there are mornings when I get every bit of those eight or nine hours, and I still feel like I need another full night's sleep before I can even think about starting my day. I honestly don't know what my body is doing while I'm asleep. Am I secretly running marathons in my dreams? Is my brain hosting an all-night party while the rest of me is trying to recharge? Did someone forget to flip the "rested" switch before I woke up? Because something clearly isn't wor...