Insomnia Ain't Right: Reflections on the Day before Sunrise

This morning, I woke up at 4. I'm not sure why, because I don't remember having any bad or even weird dreams, but there I was, staring at the middle of the night and listening to the somewhat-less-than-restful sounds of my whuffling slumbering darling, who very very soon is going to have someone tell him how to deal with the sleep apnea, if that's what it is, but I digress....

Anyway. Didn't want to read. Didn't want to play games. Called FedEx to get that stupid cooler sent back to Traverse City (don't ask. Ok, ask. Turns out that our house was owned (almost a year ago, forgive the double parentheticals) by a dude whose brother is a moron. Works in Traverse City; had his secretary send an empty cooler -- an empty, battered-all-to-hell-please-just-buy-a-new-damned cooler, mind you -- to his brother, who moved from this address a full 8 months ago. Close family, I guess. Or just peopled with some idiots).

Aaaaaaanyway: called FedEx; called the woman who'd sent the cooler, and left a message so they could feel silly. Watched Bewitched, which I adored as a little girl and find I still do, although my GAWD I am baffled by the casting of unattractive-Darren-number-one. Darren I is not only not handsome, or even in any way physically appealing, but he was kind of a crap actor, in that role, too. (Please note that it now occurs to me that maybe it was the role, because I thought he was just splendid in Inherit the Wind with my old hero, Spencer Tracy.) York had a sort of smarmy uneasy manner that frankly even as a three-year-old I had a hard time believing Samantha would ever have fallen for; come on, people: Elizabeth Montgomery? Uberhottie? And that dude? Nooo no no. Not plausible. Sorry. At least Darren II was passably pleasant looking, and had better reaction-time than Darren Primero.... Meanwhile, try not to imagine me as a three-year-old trying to do magic with my nose. What a goof.

Ok, so where was I? Oh, yes, 5 a.m., Pacific something Time. Embarrassing admission? I never know which is Standard and which is Daylight. I should, shouldn't I? I know a lot of other stuff, in my defense, and a lot of it is in French and Italian, even, so I think I get a pass for not knowing stupid time stuff. Hey, my phone and my car clock are always right (thank goodness for satellites and reference clocks on the computer, yo), so it's not like I don't know what time it is (FOUR THIRTY!) (please get that), just that I don't know what.... uh.... kind of time it is.

I should have journaled. I meant to; I like to; I neglect this page entirely too much, but there you go. Too busy living to log? No, actually, not really, but ok, for want of a better excuse, yes. Too busy doing whatever to write more often, even though I enjoy writing so much. Sigh. I got a really sweet e-mail from HF recently that said "It gives me such pleasure to read your words while I can internally hear your inflections." I just loved that; I always think I write like I talk, but it was incredibly warming to hear it from someone other than the voices in my head. They're such liars anyway. OW! Kidding! Geez! Take it easy!

Didn't blog (ugh. I hate that word, kinda). Went back to sleep at 6:45 instead, for an hour, and woke up all muzzy and then the day was plein d'idiots, so in fact, I've just decided to go to sleep right now and give Friday a chance in about 8 hours.

Kiss, kiss, hug, hug. Sweet dreams.