theology&geometry

I got roughly an hour and a half of sleep. Would have been more had I had enough sense to go sleep in an actual bed and not on the couch, which is in the same room as a clock that chimes triumphantly every fifteen minutes. What the hell is the point of a clock that chimes every fifteen minutes? To remind you of the tedium of not being dead?

Anyway, this day should be an interesting day.

My mother’s appointment in Nashville tomorrow is at 7 a.m. Nashville is, on a good day, a two-and-a-half-hour drive from here. Factoring in I-40 madness (of which there is always at least a little) and Nashville morning traffic, I doubt we’ll be able to make it in less than three. Which means we need to leave at 4 a.m. Which means I would need to get up at 3 a.m. to get ready.

Which means, if I went to bed right now — hit publish and hit the sack — I’d sleep for three hours and get up.

The catch is, I’m waiting on laundry to get done. Laundry I have to have done because I need something to wear tomorrow.

[Yes, I should have done laundry earlier, but I've been caught up in the gripping web of home movies since 6 p.m. and wasn't thinking about my laundry. Stop trying to run my life, internet!]

Plus I don’t think I could go to sleep right now anyway. I’ve only been up for fourteen hours or so. And I’ve got lots of videos left to watch.

So.

Do I wait on my last load to wash (could be thirty more minutes) and throw it in the dryer and get two hours of sleep?

Or do I power through on no sleep, drink a lot of coffee tomorrow morning, and hope I don’t crash around noon?

This would be moot if my mother were driving tomorrow. She’s not. I am.

Counsel me, internet. Ignore what I said up there about not running my life. I need you. Come back to me, baby.

I’m having the worst time falling asleep tonight. I suspect that has a lot to do with getting totally shitfaced at 3 p.m. and then passing out at 6, only to wake up and lounge around, still fairly tipsy, until bedtime.

I laid down at 1:30, read a bit, then turned out the light and tossed and turned through a series of dream-limbo misfires — the kind that put you in such unpleasant scenerios so that you’re sure to wake up before you actually fall asleep. The only one I can remember is a weirdly loud buzzing going on in my head that startled me awake. I woke up, flipped over, and fell into another unpleasant dream. And again and again. Until mild desperation set in.

And as soon as I was actually slipping into some real sleep, I heard a door slam and some shouting out in the parking lot. And, because my Grandmaw taught me well and I am a nosy creature, I slid open my window to listen to the commotion. And lo there was profane name-calling. And the woman getting into the car said something about “That’s why I won’t be up on you again and you can’t even pay your rent!” And there were strings of epithets that would make sailors swoon. And there were car doors slammed.

And when the car rumbled its way out of the lot — I actually half expected it to go tearing out — I tried to get back to sleep, only to slip once more into uncomfortable near-dreams, and be awakened once more by the slamming of a car door, at which point I realized that crazy car lady had returned to the no-rent-paying gentlemen with whom she’d just had a tiff, and they proceeded to hash out their problems in the parking lot — again — at an elevated volume. At which point my downstairs neighbor (who will be getting a cake from me for this) ventured outside and said, “Look guys, I’m not interested in justice — I FUCKING LIVE HERE! — so could you go inside or go home or just cut it out because I FUCKING LIVE HERE!”

After all that excitement, I’m finding it hard to get to sleep. Which sucks. Because I got lots of shiz to do tomorrow.

I went to bed at a whoppingly early 12:30, and here it is, nearly three hours later, and I’m up and about, pretty much wide awake. Not sure what woke me. I think it may have been a train. The windows are open, so it’s a little louder than usual out there.

Blaaaaaah. Too late for Nyquil or Benadryl, warm milk sounds disgusting (and I’m out of milk anyway), reading does the opposite of put me to sleep, and ditto for infomercials. I don’t want to be up all night just to sleep ’til noon tomorrow and piss my day away in pajamas.

So, brain, take a hint. Shut off and quit thinking ’bout stuff. Thinking is for chumps. And Tuesday thru Saturday.