(containing entirely too much information at points)

I didn’t sleep last night. I laid awake until later than 4 in the morning; I awakened at multiple points in the early morning, and was suddenly wide awake. That’s how it is when I don’t sleep. I sleep from time to time, but then start awake, and feel as if I’d never slept at all.

So I was exhausted. And slinging sponges singolo from 10 a.m. til 10:30 p.m. (plus set up and breakdown) on what should have been one of my best days yet. Friday. The beginning o f the rush. Day 15 of the 17 day fair.

And I got my period. Now, I’m blessed with a short period (3-4 days). But I’m cursed with weeks of PMS, and a day of HELL. Which never fails to be the first day of my period. Today.

I’ve been daydreaming of surprises. I’m embarassed to say what sort of surprises, but surprises. Daydreaming for probably a week now. Or more.

PMSing + daydreaming of surprises = trouble.

I was an emotional wreck. Have been, I suppose for a few days now.

My first demo of the day: The older lady I’m pitching too repeats, “I’m falling asleep” every few sentences. That and “get on with it” and “how much are they?”

I persisted. She bought a set, but when the two women looking on left halfway through, she felt that really justified her claims. She just wanted to buy it and move on. And rude as she was, she did just that once I’d finally finished.

At which point I started to cry.

And then my cramps kicked in. Two Excederin later I was still in just as much pain, just as exhausted and cursing every last ion the world was comprised of.

Until Rob, the Chamois Guy (a.k.a., my competition, and quite possibly my best buddy at the fair), had me sit outside with him and participate in a guided meditation, complete with a brook that babbled my pain right away from me.

My pain disappeared, and I survived. And about eight-thirty tonight, I got my surprise. Though not precisely the one I’d expected.

It’s good to have friends in the business. There are good people in this business.

Of course, I was so exhausted, I probably didn’t sell too many sponges. Let’s go find out. And let the daydreams slip away…

You see, it’s 11 days into the County Fair. The Alameda County Fair. And what a riot it’s been!! I can’t tell you. Attendance is down. No one’s buying anything. I want to blame the gas prices, but according to Patrick, “the fair can only be down twenty percent due to the economy.” Now that’s some flawless logic.

The other day the power in my building was out for two and a half hours because the mechanical bull blew up. “We take cash, check, or…um. Just cash or check.”

Didn’t sell any for those few hours.

But in general, it’s been great. I’ve learned to mix up my sponge demo a bit. Instead of sticking to “the Super Sponge acts more like a vacuum…”, I’m starting off with “Super Sponge saves the day!!” Way more exciting.

Oh, and my favorite hook line: “Three minutes of free entertainment. And I’m funny!! At least that’s what my mom says.”

Which is especially funny to me because my mom never said that, and she’s at the booth next door selling silk blankets. She can hear every word.

Yes, we’re really mixing it up at the County Fair–all thanks to the presence of my sister, who is rather reluctant to recite the sponge demo precisely the way I might suggest she should.

I’ve begun insinuating that many Americans–just like you!–move their furniture around to hide the stains in their carpet. I think it hits home.

But, anyway, my dilemma…

For the last few nights, I’ve been so exhausted, I haven’t been able to successfully drinka beer. As a result, I have a couple half or third empty beer bottles hiding under the bathroom sink. Dare I drink one?

and by cleaning, I mean rinsing out all the Diet Coke from this last weekend spent slinging sponges. I couldn’t find the Woolite, even though I recognize its amazing effect–my carpet just sparkles with clean!

So tonight I was rinsing my carpet, and I came to understand that not only does the Super Sponge really suck, but, no matter how badly one doesn’t want to take it, good advice is both always warranted and relevant.

More to come on my one year anniversary as a sponge sales woman.

I cleaned two toilets today. Bowls and all.

I’ve always been afraid of toilets. For as long as I can remember, if I flush one at night, I run in terror back to bed. I just know my soul’s in danger.

It’s really only been in the recent years that I’ve been petrified of all things associated with toilets: germs… fecel matter… skin cells… urine… toilet water… even that little silver flusher. Er, especially that little silver fusher. It’s gotten pretty out of hand. But I did develop a useful skill: I can pee standing up. It’s indispensible in some public restrooms, and a good upper thigh workout.

Today I looked my mysophobia–my scatophobia–my molysomophobia–my panthophobia– all of ’em–straight in the eye, and I said, “Mysophobia! Scatophobia! Molysomophobia! Pan-whatever-phobia! You’ve been ruling my life for too long.”

And I donned my cleaning clothes, gloves, Super Sponges, doused the bathrooms in bleach and went at ’em. And boy are they shiny.

Then I showered and put the clothes I was wearing in a plastic bag. They’ll go out with the trash this Thursday.

Just kidding.