WORK SUCKS.
In all fairness, most, if not all work sucks, that's why we ride on two wheels and supplement our protein intake with bugs, ingested at 70mph like some entomological beer bong. I happen to like my job for the most part, certainly more than most. Before I got paid to do what I do, I did it for fun in the comforts of my own home. To steal a line from "vermin", the "grocery spigot" part of work helps smooth out the rough spots of the day.
The salve of the grocery spigot wasn't working today.
Tonight/tomorrow I leave. What is 2am anyway? (said in my best Seinfeld voice) The day was spent tying up loose ends for tomorrows absence, scanning google maps traffic overlays for construction and being generally unproductive. I rambled more than usual much to my co-workers chagrin, but they are good eggs. I did get a bonus for my ramblings though when the owner offered to pay for my gas if I did one more thing before I left. (Note to self: you still haven't filed that expense report dummy). My indenture clock got punched early on that beautiful day. What to do? Riding the tiger seemed semi-foolish as it would add some wear and tear to a posterior I would desperately need to protect in a few hours.
I was tired, it was 3pm. Allow me to turn back the hands of time 24 hours. I hate when movies do that without telling me... So it is now 36 hours before my departure time. Since I am being honest, I have sleep issues. I'm not an insomniac per-se, but I fairly regularly stare at the ceiling for no particular reason when the sun no longer allows me to bask in its' glow. I did not inherit either of my grandfathers genes who were regular working men who woke up at 3am every day of their lives. Nope, I got that chromosome flipped at birth. Fortunately, I did inherit their shiny headed hairline. Wait, that's not good either. Anyway I can't fall asleep once a week or so. This causes me to enjoy waking up late, every day.
I have a bit of Phaedrus in me. I haven't finished the book as I type this, but so far at chapter 7, it fits. I over-analyze. My knife makes many sand piles then mixes them up to cut them up a different way. It's a thing.. So, in my utter brilliance, I decide to set the alarm for 4:30am instead of my normal 6:30 snooze-a-thon so I can get my day started. This will do two things Phaedrus says. 1, I can get the pile of sand on my desk at work cut and filtered for my absence (it's 1 day for god's sake). 2. More importantly, I will intentionally screw with my circadian rhythm, thus allowing me to sleep long and deep *tomorrow* when it really counts because I will have intentionally made myself tired. (For those of you who are brain surgeon's, you just picked up on some foreshadowing right? )
So, I had a Sierra Nevada Ruthless Rye while cleaning up the DVR and headed to bed. Success. What seemed like 2 minutes later the radio blared "She thinks my tractor's sexy" and it was off to the races. Refreshed, bright eyed and bushy butt'ed, I scurried around and did my duties.
Fast forward 18 hours. I'm frickin tired. My friend Rick came over to verify my odometer for the witness form since start time was 0-dark-thirty. I had a plan to get to bed early and he wished me luck and bolted early.
Stupid Flyers lose to the stupid devils. No worries, we will take them in the playoffs, we are way better than them. (Ahem, pay attention, more foreshadowing) The reason seems to be no apparent reason other than they sucked. Both the post-game show and the post-game-post-game wrapup show seem to share my in depth analysis. Yup, what I thought was utter brilliance in waking up early appears to have been the infiltration of Wile E. Coyote. I am a frickin moron. I can't sleep. Last time I remember looking at the clock was around midnight. My tractor is all sexy again 2 hours later. WTF. I grab a shower and into my gear I go. Nothing I can do about it now...
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