Sleep Is The Enemy

Thanks for the get-well wishes; I managed to get my temps back to normal by this morning thanks to a long day of lying around drinkin' that Santa Cruz tap water yesterday. I still feel like butt, but a less-big butt. The kind Sir Mixalot would find unacceptably small.

I loaded up on drugs before going to bed last night, then woke up in a few hours covered in sweat with nasty leg cramps. This kind of thing is pretty typical for me. I have a hell of a time falling asleep in the first place, especially with our charming neighbors through the floor running head-first into their walls until 4:00am. When I do fall asleep, I tend to wake up a few hours later feeling uncomfortable and annoyed. As much as I hate getting out of bed in the morning, I'm usually equally relieved that the night is over and I don't have to deal with sleeping for another 15 or 16 hours. I inherited most of this tendency from my mom, who is an even worse insomniac than I am, and the rest I fill in for myself by being a big wound-up ball of neuroses.

So, until they come up with a cure for sleep, I'll keep taking it like a nasty medicine I have to choke down.

(Or, you know, maybe I'll live somewhere quiet some day. Although Becky likes to remind me that with my choice of profession we'll always be living in college towns, so there isn't much hope for that.)

Anyway, I'm stoked to be back to quasi-normal. When I think of something interesting to write about, I'll be sure to put the internet on notice.