What A Nice Cave
14 December 2000
|
|
10:28 PM: This gets to go in the Record of Horrible Days, I think, even though very little happened. Which is much the problem. I had another terrible night of semi-not-sleeping, when I don't know if I'm thinking of dreaming about thinking, but whatever I'm doing, it feels like I'm lying there obsessing and trying to go to sleep, even if I already did. In the vortex, there.
Woke up around noon to do a few contracty things, which didn't take as long as I thought they would, but which didn't matter because I said I'd do them in "the morning" which means noon to me but not to anybody else without explanation, oops. Waiting waiting to hear back about something, and so tired. So very very tired. Time goes tick.
Finally around 2 PM, ready to go. So much - again - for "Today really I will get into work at a reasonable time." So tired. So tired. Just lie down for a few minu-
Open eyes. 5:30 PM. Oops again. Well, so much getting into work at all. Back to sleep. Except - again - of course - it is the sleep that is not sleep. Too tired to move, too stuffy in the apartment because the heat is on. Dreaming about fried chicken.
And everywhere I look, everything I see, everything I do, everything I think about, it's all pointers into memory. I got that when... Oh, that's something I was going to... That's where we... No wonder I want to move into the front room. Not that that would help.
So, now, at least logged into work, getting some stuff done remotely.
God I have no idea what I want to do. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is a weird sad longing album. Happy New Year.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
yestoday | today | tomorrowday | ||
archive | semi-bio | |||
listen! | random | privit | ||
| ||||
| ||||
All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||