I got nothing today. I've got something interesting coming up for next week, but for now, I'm just going with random crap.
1. Should I be concerned that the mens room in my office smells like bananas?
2. Smoking. It's been 18 days. I'm doing well. I've even succeeded in hanging around a couple of smoking friends. Wasn't comfortable, and I got a little twitchy, but overall, it went well. So things are progressing nicely. Except...
3. Insomnia. It's here, and it's here with a vengeance. It's hard to point to the cause, since as I've mentioned before, this is a relatively common issue with me. But I feel like I've probably had three or four nights of sleep in the last two weeks. It's getting brutal. Today I woke up at 3:00 AM, and lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to will myself back to sleep. And eventually, I did. I fell back asleep at about 5:30 AM. 30 minutes before my alarm went off. Awesome. No, really. Thanks for that, gods of sleep, you fucking bastards.
Have you ever had insomnia so badly that you start drifting into madness? I think it's starting to happen to me. It started out normally... and then I started thinking too much. I thought about work, and what projects I'm behind on. I thought about smoking. I then started thinking about whiskey, and what my favorite brands are. I thought about Irish vs. Bourbon, and decided I'm definitely more of an Irish whiskey kind of guy.
I then started listing my favorite John Carpenter movies, and then wondering how someone can make so many great movies, and yet still make Ghosts of Mars, arguably the worst movie about people possessed by homicidal Martians ever made. I decided to write something, eventually, about the best of John Carpenter. Then I started composing it in my head.
It went downhill from there. Finally, I glimpsed true madness. Have you ever been so tired, so completely and utter exhausted, and yet still not able to sleep? I started wondering (seriously): Could I punch myself hard enough to knock myself unconscious? I mean, I'm a relatively big person, and I'm sure, if I wasn't a complete pacifist, if I got my weight behind it, I could knock someone out. Sure, I might break my hand, but the point is - could I turn that on myself? I decided the physics and the angling just wouldn't work.
So instead I got up and went to the bathroom.
Upon exiting the bathroom, I thought... what if I just took a flying leap at the bed, and deliberately slammed my head into the wall above the bed? I'd get knocked out, and then just collapse onto the bed. It seemed a perfect plan, except it would probably wake (and completely freak out) Mrs. TK, who was sleeping soundly (damn her).
Then back to whiskey. I thought, "I've got a couple bottles downstairs. Maybe I'll just go drink a mess of whiskey and pass out." I abandoned this thought because a) I'd end up waking the beagle, who would promptly become a tiny, three-legged pain in the ass, and b) probably not the best plan when I have to be a work in four hours. I'd be like this by lunchtime:
Then, miraculously, I fell asleep without having to drink myself into submission or crack my skull. And then 30 minutes later my alarm went off. Despite my regular use of profanity on this blog, and my blatant disregard for religion, I couldn't possibly type out the words I used to curse at God. It was that bad. I mean, points for creativity, sure, but anytime you call the Lord Almighty a "worthless whoremongering shitfucking pedophile", and that's the least offensive phrase you used? You should probably just keep a lid on that shit and hope Ole' Big Pants in the Sky was busy monitoring something else. Um... and... apologies to any religious readers. It was an extreme circumstance.
Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is... I'm really fucking tired.
Listening to: Corinne Bailey Rae - Trouble Sleeping