Friday, February 27, 2009

A Very Good Night

I had the best of intentions when I decided to take a break last night. I had told myself that I wasn't going to write a blog or story or whatever the heck you call them. I had been pushing it pretty hard lately and I was going to bed. A rest was very much needed. I deserved the rest. I wanted the rest.

Hold on, I've got to run to the garage and get a beer.

OK, I'm good now.

Well, it turns out that the ability to only get four hours of sleep a night and be fine,doesn't run in the family. My lovely cousin Cris, June Cleaver After A Six-Pack, can stay up for three days straight, only needing a piece of bread and 6 bottles of wine. I don't get it. She is super human, an awesome mom and a great writer. It kind of pisses me off. I was pacing her since last Saturday. We were getting right around 4 hours of sleep a night, every night. Every thing was cool.

Right about Wednesday, I began to dislike my alarm clock.. I was waking up delirious, talking to the darn thing like a person. Maybe not a person, what's lower than what a person would walk on. I would say stuff like, "Who are you looking at??!! Oh, just shut up, I hear you!! What, you think I can't see you up on top of that chest??? I bought you! I gave you freedom from that horrible box. Freedom from that little silicone pack and stale Chinese air. Just knock it off!!" By then I was awake. I guess it still works fine.

This all happened in a matter of days. I was dreaming of sleeping at work. Not something you want to do when your 20 feet off the ground on a ladder. I was daydreaming while daydreaming. It started to seem questionable that I should go on like that. I had to stop. And last night was the night.


Hold on, I need another beer.

I'm back. Either I am a fast drinker or slow typist. I'm going with both.

Back to the story.

Except, right before I was going to bed, I called freaking wonder woman. She was all giddy and crap. Talking a hundred miles a minute about the podcast thing. Soon enough it wore off on me and I was talking a hundred miles a minute. We laughed, we cried, it was 1 AM. Crap. I did it again. But this time I didn't even get to write. I was very upset with myself. But, those conversations with her are that good! We have such a good time. You simply cannot call it wasted time. Stupid moronically funny, not wasted.

Today I woke up so pissed at the alarm clock that I would not even talk to it. That's when you know your mad, when to "stop" talking to inanimate objects. I didn't even acknowledge the bastard. I got up, turned "it" off, and got ready for work. The guys at work were impressed with the new language they thought I learned. They thought I was showing off. I just couldn't form words. I was thankful I didn't get pulled over, I would have never passed a field sobriety test. I was too tired. I was beyond tired, I was trierered.

Today I did what any worn out man would do. I worked all day, picked up my daughter from kindergarten, helped with dinner, shipped my wife and daughter off to Disney Playhouse Live, took care of the boy, put him in bed, started drinking and here I am. I am going to drink one more beer (this one is empty) and wait for the girls to get home. Then you can bet your sweet bippy, I am going to bed.

So I say to you, "Good Night".

P.S. I thought I had some great stories to tell you from the past few days, but I'm pretty sure I was hallucinating.

1 comment:

june cleaver said...

I was wondering why you didn't call last night.


I regrouted my bathroom last night and organized the pantry.

Tonight I am going to wash all the smudges off of the walls.

sleep... it is seriously overrated.