(no subject)
I always pile on the makeup when I've been without sleep for too long. It doesn't so much hide the bags as distract people's attention from them. What you see is not an insomniac, but a giant raccoon walking upright.
Last night, it had been several...months since I last slept. Or days. I've lost count.
But lack of sleep isn't always a bad thing. Once you pass through that barrier of drowsiness to reach your second wind, it can give you a heightened sense of awareness and opens you up to endless creativity. Once you're there, it's difficult to turn back. So, you stay up, working, writing, experimenting.
But all good things come to an end, and eventually you plateau, realizing that nothing more is coming out of your head, and it's time to call it a night. But do you go right to sleep? Er, no. That's like collapsing in a La-Z-Boy recliner right after the New York Marathon. You need to walk it off and cool down gradually.
Being that it was St. Patrick's Day, I walked it off over to the neighborhood Irish pub. (This was after driving 10 miles to get there. See, it wasn't my neighborhood.) As I went inside, the place was still bouncing to the Pogues. The crowd itself was an interesting mix of tattoos, piercings, Fendi bags, and Jimmy Choos. The one thing that united them--no one was without a cell phone. No one but me.
I strode up to the bar, and ordered a Jamison's. I may not look Irish in the least, but I'm a great admirer of their beverages. Sipping my drink, I leaned against the bar and watched the crowd, wishing I could either have a smoke or hear "Fairy Tale of New York."
Suddenly, a fetching brunette emerged from the sea of bodies and headed straight for me. As she came closer, I struck a cooler-than-thou pose and casually swigged my whiskey. Once there, she ordered a Bailey's on ice and I pulled out a few bills telling her I'd get it. She turned to me. "Thanks," she said, smiling sweetly.
"My pleasure. By the way, my name is Tim," I said, holding out my hand.
"Julie." She looked deep into my eyes and cocked her head in a way that sent chills down my spine and caused a wicked grin to creep across my lips. "So, what are you? All evil and stuff?"
Thud. I knew what she was talking about. I ran a finger across my lower lids and came away with a dark black smudge the length of my ring finger. "No, not particularly evil. If I was properly evil, I'd have waterproof eyeliner."
That made her laugh a little. All was not lost, but it was a definite mood killer. Happily for me, she was a smoker as well, so we at least had that bond. We stepped outside for a couple of cigarettes and just talked, she about her ex-boyfriend and me about...someone.
As the sun came up, I drove her home and sent her on her way with a kiss on the forehead.
You know, I still haven't slept?
Last night, it had been several...months since I last slept. Or days. I've lost count.
But lack of sleep isn't always a bad thing. Once you pass through that barrier of drowsiness to reach your second wind, it can give you a heightened sense of awareness and opens you up to endless creativity. Once you're there, it's difficult to turn back. So, you stay up, working, writing, experimenting.
But all good things come to an end, and eventually you plateau, realizing that nothing more is coming out of your head, and it's time to call it a night. But do you go right to sleep? Er, no. That's like collapsing in a La-Z-Boy recliner right after the New York Marathon. You need to walk it off and cool down gradually.
Being that it was St. Patrick's Day, I walked it off over to the neighborhood Irish pub. (This was after driving 10 miles to get there. See, it wasn't my neighborhood.) As I went inside, the place was still bouncing to the Pogues. The crowd itself was an interesting mix of tattoos, piercings, Fendi bags, and Jimmy Choos. The one thing that united them--no one was without a cell phone. No one but me.
I strode up to the bar, and ordered a Jamison's. I may not look Irish in the least, but I'm a great admirer of their beverages. Sipping my drink, I leaned against the bar and watched the crowd, wishing I could either have a smoke or hear "Fairy Tale of New York."
Suddenly, a fetching brunette emerged from the sea of bodies and headed straight for me. As she came closer, I struck a cooler-than-thou pose and casually swigged my whiskey. Once there, she ordered a Bailey's on ice and I pulled out a few bills telling her I'd get it. She turned to me. "Thanks," she said, smiling sweetly.
"My pleasure. By the way, my name is Tim," I said, holding out my hand.
"Julie." She looked deep into my eyes and cocked her head in a way that sent chills down my spine and caused a wicked grin to creep across my lips. "So, what are you? All evil and stuff?"
Thud. I knew what she was talking about. I ran a finger across my lower lids and came away with a dark black smudge the length of my ring finger. "No, not particularly evil. If I was properly evil, I'd have waterproof eyeliner."
That made her laugh a little. All was not lost, but it was a definite mood killer. Happily for me, she was a smoker as well, so we at least had that bond. We stepped outside for a couple of cigarettes and just talked, she about her ex-boyfriend and me about...someone.
As the sun came up, I drove her home and sent her on her way with a kiss on the forehead.
You know, I still haven't slept?