You know, I always promise myself that I won't stay up all night on the weekends; that I'll go to bed at a reasonable hour, get up and be productive, etc. But it never happens. Something about being the only one up; that feeling of blessed solitude...
This might pertain to living with the Gorilla Guys - they DO tend to get up in your Kool-Aid pretty much the entire time they're awake, and, god help me, its the playoffs for baseball right now. Mr. Gorilla Man is a die-hard Red Sox fan (poor bastard - big kiss honey!!!) so it pretty much means the sound of a sporting event screaming from the TV, as well as the jungle noises of the younger gorillas during all the daylight hours. That weekend, which looked so blissful and perfect, when viewed from Monday afternoon, has become more of a testosterone torture marathon - UNCLE, DAMMIT!
I did get to run away last night, so I guess I shouldn't complain...ah, hell with it! I need a t-shirt that sums it all up: "Born To Bitch".
Where was I?
Oh yeah, staying up all night, enjoying the aforementioned blessed solitude...it WAS pretty nice- very quiet, stuff stays cleaned up, no one is chanting "mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom,......"
The bitch of it is, the AM hours come all too soon on the tail of the night.
(On the plus side, coffee always tastes better when you are semi-conscious, and desperately needing it's caffeinated effect. The trick is to not pour it down your front while dozing, with your cup in hand, on the throne of porcelain. Let's just say I'm not that skilled yet...)
Maybe I should call this blog Sleepwalking on the Edge of Reason.
Or Hot Coffee Blisters on The Toilet of Life...too graphic?
Could be worse...there could be pictures to go with this.