I’ve been up since four this morning.

I wake up in the dark most mornings.

I don’t really like this about myself.

Actually, if I didn’t have a child or job, I wouldn’t give a shit. I’d wake up early, enjoy my most productive time of day and take a nap when I felt tired again. But mommies don’t have the luxury, so instead I have dark under-eye circles you could park a car inside.

It’s a living.

I also have a freakishly accurate internal alarm clock that I can set by looking at the current time and thinking about what time I want to wake up before I fall asleep. Inherited from my biological father. I haven’t talked to him in years, but he was always the same way.

It’s funny, the things we inherit from either parent.

I got my father’s allergies. All berries except blackberries. Red meat, milk and eggs. I’ve been tested and everything. My body very much dislikes animal proteins and I often wonder if this might be why I’ve found most of them repulsive my whole life.

As a baby, milk swelled my face shut, sent me to the emergency room. Soy formula kept me alive.

As a kid, I found meat and eggs so disgusting that when forced to eat them, I would drench them in ketchup. Now I associate ketchup with these foods and don’t really care for it.

I also got my father’s need for clean and order. It creeps me out a little when I notice it.

My dad used to follow us around with a hand-held vacuum if we walked from the kitchen to the dining room with a piece of toast, vacuuming imaginary crumbs.

Now I think about him every time I grab the Dustbuster and vacuum under the kitchen table, post meal. I worry to myself, “Am I just like my father?”

Dishes were absolutely not allowed to languish in the sink and had to be washed immediately, but once cleaned, they had to pass inspection as well.

My sister and I still make jokes about the time he carried a cheese grater we’d washed inadequately into the living room to yell at us. He told us that if it happened again, we would lose our cheese grater privileges.

My father stormed out of the room and my sister and I had to wait until he was completely out of earshot before we made eye contact. Staring at the floor, stifling giggles.

“Oh no! Not my cheese grater privileges!” she whispered in mock horror, before we collapsed laughing.

As you can imagine, we still take our cheese grater privileges very seriously.

My father’s kitchen counters had to be free and clear of all clutter and wiped clean. He can’t even stand a toaster or coffee maker on a counter. Nothing.

I am somewhat horrified to find that I now start every morning by cleaning my kitchen counters thoroughly. Everything wiped down and shiny. I can’t have dishes in the sink either. Ever.

See? Creepy.

He plays guitar and drums, so I guess I got my interest in music from him as well. And there you have me: a borderline-OCD guitar player with sensitive skin. I know, it’s a hot combination. Try to control yourself.

From my mother, I inherited bunk feet badly in need of corrective surgery, and a really amazing rack. I feel like these two things sort of balance each other out. I’m okay with deformed feet and great tits. It’s okay. Giveth and taketh away, and all that happy horseshit, right?

I obviously don’t really have anything to talk about, I just felt like writing before I go to bed. I need a creative outlet or I go fully crazy. And I’ve been making a fine ass of myself commenting on social networking sites and blogs the last few days, so maybe if I get it out here I’ll stop that.

I don’t know what’s wrong. I am typing and I can’t shut up. I’m over-sharing. I am Inappropriate Self-Disclosure Lady. I am Jack’s raging bile duct. I need to just be quiet for a week. Or something. More delete opportunities, maybe. Deletortunities.

I hate it when blogs don’t let me delete a dumb comment I’ve made.

You’d think this would teach me to be more careful about what I say before I push a “post comment” button, but so far this little bit of growth and maturity has eluded me. Heart-on-my-sleeve gets me again. Gets me everywhere and gets me nowhere. Stupid emotions.

A friend told me that Mercury is retrograde right now and this screws up communication. She said it would end on the 15th of January, which is tomorrow, but I’m still going to put myself on shut the fuck up watch for a while, to be safe.

I like astrology. I’m a Scorpio with Aquarius rising. For you astrology newbies, this means I present a happy-go-lucky person to the world, but I actually suck.

Head throbbing. (And that’s how that nasty Google search led you to my blog, pervert.) Time for bed.

Ramble on.