sleep is for the week.
22 July 2006
taking the day off — to clean house, try quail for the first time, buy a pair of black wedges, and splash around union square and astoria, in that choronological order — has, it seemed, fooled my body into thinking that my checkerboard sleep patterns of april ‘03-january ‘06 are back with a vengeance. i passed out on the couch at 21.30, went into bed at 22.00, and woke up at 0.30 to suck down some orange juice and briefly drowse before getting up at around 1.45. (my 3.20 attempt to get a little more shut-eye before my shower resulted in little more than me wondering which other friends of mine might be awake.)
and so. the cd player is loaded with the afghan whigs (it was the opening notes of their take on “true love is a gravel road,” on loop, that drove me from my bed an hour ago), the friday crossword is 75 percent done (who *was* the veep who graduated from princeton at 16? did he have a show on wprb?), and i’m waiting things out until my 6.15 wake-up call is sounded.
the late hour, the dark silence outside, and “fountain and fairfax” are making me wonder if my continued love for mid-period afghan whigs is evidence that a key part of my emotional development was stopped cold in its tracks sometime around 1999.
also: red-ink warnings about the correlations between low sleep quotients and diabetes are not good insomnia-jag reading material.