Can't Kick the Habit
You know it's true, even though for me it doesn't equate to anything illegal.
I lost another couple of hours of sleep last night. It was probably less than two; after having been awakened by a Sports Night dream that finished like an episode might, zooming in on a picture of F3 and playing "She Will Have Her Way" by Neil Finn (I bought that particular CD after hearing the song on the show, it's one of my favorite songs by the former Crowded House crooner), I tossed and turned, trying to remain calm and relaxed. After about twenty minutes I got up and checked the clock; 02:22 if I remember correctly. I tried again to lay in bed and relax, and it didn't seem to be taking, so I expedited the process by using the same relaxation exercise that eventually did the trick the night before. I restarted the Gregorian chant CD when I finished that exercise at 02:59, and I'm pretty sure that I was asleep before it was done, as I would have heard the clapping at the end if I hadn't zonked out before then. Not as bad as a work callout, but problematic nontheless. Once I was back asleep, I had a dream about the Mirror. I think I've had a couple about her lately, but that was the first F3 dream I can remember having.
I have a few things to occupy me today. I'll probably try to watch some Sports Night; I also have to take a lamp down to the dumpster at work, get the rest of the dog food out of the garage in preparation for the arrival of our new puppy in the coming week, and while I'm at work I need to scour the back garage in an attempt to find the door to a small kennel we're going to try to use for the puppy. I work this evening until 20:00, and after that I'll be home, and probably exhausted. Will we have an insomniac threepeat? If so, I should join the cast of Dave Attell's show.
Speaking of that show, did anyone ever see the one where Dave was in New Orleans, and he spent some time with the sniper unit from the parish sheriff's department in the back of a pickup hunting nutria along the New Orleans canals? Simply outstanding, I tell you what. Bloody vermin those things are. We have them here near Hometown, and you don't even need a license to dispatch them. At some point, I'd love to put an 8mm Mauser round through one of them. Am I cruel to animals? No; nutria in the Northwest are an unfortunate transplant from the days when they were looking for a substitute for the waning beaver population; unfortunately, nobody wanted a nutria hat, and they were just set free; now they're a bane on the environment, destroying waterways and forcing the natural beaver population out. That's right, folks: eight millimeters of environmental vengeance, courtesy of The Fly.
By the way, if your name is The Wife and you're reading this, thanks for the long chat last night. It was very therapeutic. You see, folks, The Wife has pretty much become my surrogate sister, and if I get to move down to Houston, she and her Longhorn Husband will probably become my "family" down there. The Wife let me blab at her about a bunch of stuff last night, we had a bunch of laughs as usual, and I felt better. Thanks, Wife.
Also, since I know he'll be reading this eventually, I'd also like to publically thank Father Time for the lunch and wisdom yesterday. I met Father Time when I mentored a class his son was in when I was a senior in high school, and though I was initially close friends with his son, the bond between Father Time and I has grown strong over the past five and a half years. I respect his opinion, and I value his friendship. Thanks, mate!
Right then, it's off with the horns, and on with the show...
I can sing, but I can't sigh
I can barely breathe the air I need
To justify how I sink so low to get so high
I can't kick the habit
- The Spin Doctors
I lost another couple of hours of sleep last night. It was probably less than two; after having been awakened by a Sports Night dream that finished like an episode might, zooming in on a picture of F3 and playing "She Will Have Her Way" by Neil Finn (I bought that particular CD after hearing the song on the show, it's one of my favorite songs by the former Crowded House crooner), I tossed and turned, trying to remain calm and relaxed. After about twenty minutes I got up and checked the clock; 02:22 if I remember correctly. I tried again to lay in bed and relax, and it didn't seem to be taking, so I expedited the process by using the same relaxation exercise that eventually did the trick the night before. I restarted the Gregorian chant CD when I finished that exercise at 02:59, and I'm pretty sure that I was asleep before it was done, as I would have heard the clapping at the end if I hadn't zonked out before then. Not as bad as a work callout, but problematic nontheless. Once I was back asleep, I had a dream about the Mirror. I think I've had a couple about her lately, but that was the first F3 dream I can remember having.
I have a few things to occupy me today. I'll probably try to watch some Sports Night; I also have to take a lamp down to the dumpster at work, get the rest of the dog food out of the garage in preparation for the arrival of our new puppy in the coming week, and while I'm at work I need to scour the back garage in an attempt to find the door to a small kennel we're going to try to use for the puppy. I work this evening until 20:00, and after that I'll be home, and probably exhausted. Will we have an insomniac threepeat? If so, I should join the cast of Dave Attell's show.
Speaking of that show, did anyone ever see the one where Dave was in New Orleans, and he spent some time with the sniper unit from the parish sheriff's department in the back of a pickup hunting nutria along the New Orleans canals? Simply outstanding, I tell you what. Bloody vermin those things are. We have them here near Hometown, and you don't even need a license to dispatch them. At some point, I'd love to put an 8mm Mauser round through one of them. Am I cruel to animals? No; nutria in the Northwest are an unfortunate transplant from the days when they were looking for a substitute for the waning beaver population; unfortunately, nobody wanted a nutria hat, and they were just set free; now they're a bane on the environment, destroying waterways and forcing the natural beaver population out. That's right, folks: eight millimeters of environmental vengeance, courtesy of The Fly.
By the way, if your name is The Wife and you're reading this, thanks for the long chat last night. It was very therapeutic. You see, folks, The Wife has pretty much become my surrogate sister, and if I get to move down to Houston, she and her Longhorn Husband will probably become my "family" down there. The Wife let me blab at her about a bunch of stuff last night, we had a bunch of laughs as usual, and I felt better. Thanks, Wife.
Also, since I know he'll be reading this eventually, I'd also like to publically thank Father Time for the lunch and wisdom yesterday. I met Father Time when I mentored a class his son was in when I was a senior in high school, and though I was initially close friends with his son, the bond between Father Time and I has grown strong over the past five and a half years. I respect his opinion, and I value his friendship. Thanks, mate!
Right then, it's off with the horns, and on with the show...
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