I have nothing to say. How sad is that?
Let me attempt to dredge something up. I had dinner tonight, quite impromptu-ly, with Terry. I should have stayed home and worked; I wasn't really able to sleep last night, and so I went into the office at 7:30 (a full hour earlier than necessary), which afforded me the opportunity to eat breakfast with Subz before the ubiquitous conference call. But, that threw me into a slow decay of energy, which bottomed out around 3:30 and forced me to come home and take a nap. The nap lasted two hours, rather than the thirty minutes I had intended to take, so hopefully I'm still able to sleep tonight, but I'm not going to hold my breath. Of course, holding my breath would ensure 'sleep', or at least its cousin asphyxiation, but I'd rather wake up sans brain damage. I came home from dinner and did the two hours' worth of work that I should have done at the office, and now it's time to go to bed so that I can get up for my seven a.m. conference call tomorrow.
What did I do to deserve so many early mornings? I'm perhaps the antithesis of a morning person--there are times when I feel that I would rather stab myself in the eye than get out of bed in the morning. In an effort to ensure that I don't do that tomorrow morning, thus protecting my precious eyesight for one more day, I should probably go to sleep. Goodnight!
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