Not even the Park Street Jesus freaks could cheer me up this morning. After a weekend full of horrible movies, a Saturday afternoon at the office, a Christmas Party at which I got intimately acquainted with Mrs. Claus and a bout of insomnia that would have made Rip Van Winkle perky – it was Monday yet again. And I felt like I’d been drinking absinthe and snorting No-Doz for 72 hours. And you know full well you can’t get absinthe in this country. Dance with the green fairy, indeed.
I have to break this vicious cycle. It stems from staying up too late and then sleeping in the next day. My homeostasis gets thrown out of whack to the point where I’m as effictive and original on Monday morning as Jayson Blair on sodium pentathol. I’m not sure where I’m going with this. Maybe I do. Bed. For 12 hours.
You can get absinthe in this country, through the magic of the Internets.
I slept like the dead last night and feel human today. Thanks for all of the concern, disinterest.
oh poor baby! Next time take a long lush bath. Lush really needs to make some musky man bath bombs. Not that seeing a man covered in sprinkles isn’t amusing but I digress.
Glad you got some sleep!