I’m real tired.

For the past week or so, I’ve been going to bed only to wake up an hour later and stare at the wall until the sun comes up. Or at least I feel like I’m staring at the wall until the sun comes up. I might actually be catching some naps in between the tossing and the turning, but fuck, man, I’d never know. For the first few nights it was pretty fun – I’d have a glass or two of Malbec and read until I was crosseyed. I finished A Million Little Pieces in like 3 days and The Year of Magical Thinking in 4. (Great book by the way, really amazing. If I could write like that I’d be totally badass. And I’d buy myself a pony.) But now it’s all starting to catch up with me. I’m too tired to read and movies are out of the question, so I just flop around on the floor like a…

a…

you see, I can’t even come up with a good analogy. I flop around on the floor like someone who really wants to fucking sleep but can’t seem to get there. And my brain doesn’t even do amusing somersaults anymore. Sometimes when I can’t sleep I just put the old cortex on auto-pilot and see where it takes me. Last night I tried that trick and got only recurring yet vivid images of how to tie a tie. Finally, I got hung up on the windsor knot and I knew it was all over.

Anyway, I really did fall asleep somewhere around 7:30AM and woke up about an hour later to the sound of men shouting at each other. I was like “FUCK THIS SHIT, WHY DO CONSTRUCTION GUYS ALWAYS HAVE TO YELL” I continued to be pissed about it as I staggered around the apartment like a zombie, blinking in confusion and trying to dress myself for work, and then when I got outside I realized what was going on.

There was a house in the street. You know when you’re driving down the highway and there’s the house on the trucks? There were like, five of those trucks clogging up my street. With house parts on board. And an enormous crane in the yard across the street where I guess the house is going to go.

It was pretty weird.