For awhile, I’ve been thinking that I may be developing narcolepsy. I sleep for around 7 hours each night and then sleep for 1-4 hours more during the way. I’m not talking about the “Oh, I feel like taking a nap” kind of sleep, but rather the kind of fatigue one feels as they begin to drop things, forget what they’re doing, or walk in to door frames. Walking to bed sometimes feels like an involuntary action.

I have a few hypotheses as to why this is happening. The first is a vitamin deficiency. While I love juice, I don’t really have a taste for whole fruit right now. Thus, I’m in the market for a juicer. I also learned that beans are really good for you and have started eating a lot of beans.

My homemade snack of choice right now is a refried bean and chorizo burrito. I went shopping for vitamins, but nixed that idea because of sticker shock. I often cook with vegetables and have been been making my own salsa. The only meat I ever cook at home is chicken or fish and I’ve been mostly eating at home. The barbacoa near my house is too watery and there’s no El Padrino or Taco Tote on the way to work. Needless to say, my beef intake has become quite rare.

Shut your mouths, peanut gallery.

I’ve also been wondering if I’ve acquired some sort of stomach parasite that is robbing me of my energy. My poop is of good quality and I lack all other common symptoms of a parasite infection, so I’m ruling this one out. I think it’s just traveller paranoia.

The third possibility is that I’ve begun drinking coffee. Perhaps my caffeine crash is so great that I just need to sleep. I love coffee in the mornings, but I’m going to switch to some herbal tea. I think I like a hot beverage in the mornings, but not necessarily coffee. There were several years that I restricted caffeine from my diet. Perhaps it’s time to reinstitute that.

Damn I want some crawfish.

The bon temps are beginning to roulez in New Orleans. I’ll be Gawd, it’s Carnaval time! I’m glad to read that Mardi Gras will roll this year. Tourists don’t understand Mardi Gras. Most of the world thinks Mardi Gras is about drunk people and tit-showing for beads. This is simply not the case.

I read an article that really struck a chord with me. I’m not able to find it, but I’m about to paraphrase. Mardi Gras is our highest form of cultural expression. The krewes, the marching bands, the Indians, flambeaux, king cakes, the music – they relect the rich cultural history that defines New Orleans as one of the most unique cities in the United States. People have a tendency to view parades in the same route location each year. Groups of families and friends often end up next to each other year after year. I could always count on seeing certain people each year.

Drinking out of Mardi Gras cups… The moment when after hours of screaming, “Gimme a spear,” someone on the float picks you out of a crowd and waits for just the right moment toss a rubber arrowhead-tipped bamboo spear your way.

One of my favorite Mardi Gras memories has nothing to do with the actual parade. For several years, we and some neighbors staked out a spot on one of the routes that was backed by acres and acres of mostly bamboo and other reed type plants, but towering high overhead were a few old oak trees.

Before and after the parade, I and other kids would run back in through the woods, as we call “wilderness” areas, and go wild. It was beautiful back there… From the outside, everything looked green, but once you got a bit farther back, everything turned a yellowish-brown from lack of sunlight. The sunlight that did filter down, though, made the space feel remote and magical and a few fallen oak limbs provided challenging King of the Log matches. Good times only had once a year.

Even in past years while living in San Francisco, I’d don purple, green, and gold clothes and hang mardi gras beads from my glasses, my belt loops, my backpack, and anywhere else I could. There was always a stash in my backpack, of course. Throughout the day, I’d give people beads and share smiles and laughter.

The older I get, the more I realize how unique my culture is and how important it is to me. I hope this Mardi Gras offers New Orleans a time to heal. It’s the 150th anniversary and, in spite of the circumstances, I’m sort of glad there will be fewer tourists although I certainly wish more of the residents could return, including me.

I hope all the great Mardi Gras traditions come out this year. I hope the soul of city reawakens and gives hope that New Orleans, the real New Orleans, will survive. Me, I’ll be jumping around to Handa Wanda from The Wild Magnolias.

Be still my Southern heart!

I am being wooed hardcore. In three days, I’ve been given a bracelet, dance lessons, serenades, and a giant breakfast.

He’s courteous and considerate, pays for things and opens doors. He has a subtle, sarcastic sense of humor and a calm, certain demeanor.

Finally, some one with some friggin’ class! I admit to being somewhat taken aback… I’ve often been hesitant of most guys I’ve met here for one reason or the other, but this one is different. Needless to say, I’m smitten. Bitten by the love bug, even!

His name is Heri (sounds close to 80) and he’s from Durango, one state south of Chihuahua.