Must... stay... awake...
So. I had to be at work at 4 yesterday morning, to do tech support for an east coast web meeting. Which seemed crazy and irrational yesterday, but today, as I dragged myself to my desk at 3:30 in the morning for another east coast web meeting, 4 seemed like a heavenly fever-dream, a consummation devoutly to be wished. Let's not even talk about how appealing 5 a.m. seemed, which was when I had to come to work last Monday--again, crazysauce at the time, and now all gilded in happy memory lights, like Christmas, or warm cherry pie, or ANYTHING BESIDES BEING AT WORK AT THREE FUCKING THIRTY IN THE MORNING. THAT TIME SHOULD NOT EVEN EXIST, OKAY, UNLESS IT IS LEFTOVER FROM THE NIGHT BEFORE.
And--shockingly--what with all the weirdness, I did not get all that much sleep yesterday! I did take a three-hour nap after I got home, which was excellent, and then I puttered around and read and ate cereal and Sour Punch Bites until about 10 pm, at which time I figured I should try to get some sleep. The only problem was that Mr. McK actually had to do a thing to a thing at work that could only be done at 11 pm, so he elected to stay at work until then, and then complete his thing, and then stay home today. Totally reasonable! Except that I do not sleep very well when Mr. McK is gone, due to how the boogeyman is coming to rob and possibly kill me. So I usually sleep on the couch in those situations, my rationale being that rather than just lying upstairs in my bed THINKING that every tiny sound--a dog barking in the distance, the ice-maker in the refrigerator kicking on, a mosquito landing on the wall--is the boogeyman, if I sleep on the couch, I will KNOW FOR SURE when the boogeyman pokes its boogey head through the doorway, and I will face my inevitable gory boogey death head-on. Bizarrely enough, I sleep better this way.
Usually.
Because there I am, on the couch, with my pillow, ready for sleepy-times. Not so ready for sleepy-times? My dog, who wants to go out approximately every forty-five minutes. (He's usually happy to go up to bed whenever we do, and will chill relatively peacefully until we decide to get up, but if we are downstairs, it is OPEN SEASON on ringing the bell to go outside.) And in the intervals between the infernal bell-ringing, I was in that stage of sleep where you're still vaguely aware of your surroundings, but your body is fighting like crazy to keep you asleep, so sleep and reality meld into this crazy soup where you're lying there dreaming about being late for work and how the dog needs to go out, and you can even see the room through slitted eyes, but you can't quite wake up, and you are like, "WAKE UP NOW," and your body is like, "FUCK YOU WE ARE SLEEPING," and so there you are, paralyzed, literally TRYING to say "GET UP" and instead--due to the paralysis--making what probably very closely resembles a zombie moan, and... IT IS NOT RESTFUL, IS WHAT I AM SAYING.
Mr. McK got home at 1, and I got up at 2. *cries a little*
The good news is that this is my last day of these particular shenanigans, and the fact that I am leaving super-early today (like, I am hoping to be out of here by 11) means that Mr. McK and I might go see The A-Team this afternoon. Assuming that I am conscious. And apparently my boss is recognizing my heroic effort by letting me take a half-day on Friday, which is pretty awesome. Also one of my co-workers left me Red Bull and doughnuts, which was really nice of him (if very slightly suspicious, since he tends toward the cranky and volatile and this is an exceedingly rare show of generosity). And despite all my whining, it is really only a few days. But. THREE-THIRTY IN THE MORNING. I'm usually barely conscious until TEN. And it turns out that getting up really early in the morning makes me nauseous! So... yeah. Ready to be done with this, fringe benefits notwithstanding.
In happier news: some anonymouse sent me a lemur a while back! Awww, lemur! Thank you!
And--shockingly--what with all the weirdness, I did not get all that much sleep yesterday! I did take a three-hour nap after I got home, which was excellent, and then I puttered around and read and ate cereal and Sour Punch Bites until about 10 pm, at which time I figured I should try to get some sleep. The only problem was that Mr. McK actually had to do a thing to a thing at work that could only be done at 11 pm, so he elected to stay at work until then, and then complete his thing, and then stay home today. Totally reasonable! Except that I do not sleep very well when Mr. McK is gone, due to how the boogeyman is coming to rob and possibly kill me. So I usually sleep on the couch in those situations, my rationale being that rather than just lying upstairs in my bed THINKING that every tiny sound--a dog barking in the distance, the ice-maker in the refrigerator kicking on, a mosquito landing on the wall--is the boogeyman, if I sleep on the couch, I will KNOW FOR SURE when the boogeyman pokes its boogey head through the doorway, and I will face my inevitable gory boogey death head-on. Bizarrely enough, I sleep better this way.
Usually.
Because there I am, on the couch, with my pillow, ready for sleepy-times. Not so ready for sleepy-times? My dog, who wants to go out approximately every forty-five minutes. (He's usually happy to go up to bed whenever we do, and will chill relatively peacefully until we decide to get up, but if we are downstairs, it is OPEN SEASON on ringing the bell to go outside.) And in the intervals between the infernal bell-ringing, I was in that stage of sleep where you're still vaguely aware of your surroundings, but your body is fighting like crazy to keep you asleep, so sleep and reality meld into this crazy soup where you're lying there dreaming about being late for work and how the dog needs to go out, and you can even see the room through slitted eyes, but you can't quite wake up, and you are like, "WAKE UP NOW," and your body is like, "FUCK YOU WE ARE SLEEPING," and so there you are, paralyzed, literally TRYING to say "GET UP" and instead--due to the paralysis--making what probably very closely resembles a zombie moan, and... IT IS NOT RESTFUL, IS WHAT I AM SAYING.
Mr. McK got home at 1, and I got up at 2. *cries a little*
The good news is that this is my last day of these particular shenanigans, and the fact that I am leaving super-early today (like, I am hoping to be out of here by 11) means that Mr. McK and I might go see The A-Team this afternoon. Assuming that I am conscious. And apparently my boss is recognizing my heroic effort by letting me take a half-day on Friday, which is pretty awesome. Also one of my co-workers left me Red Bull and doughnuts, which was really nice of him (if very slightly suspicious, since he tends toward the cranky and volatile and this is an exceedingly rare show of generosity). And despite all my whining, it is really only a few days. But. THREE-THIRTY IN THE MORNING. I'm usually barely conscious until TEN. And it turns out that getting up really early in the morning makes me nauseous! So... yeah. Ready to be done with this, fringe benefits notwithstanding.
In happier news: some anonymouse sent me a lemur a while back! Awww, lemur! Thank you!