No rest for the wicked

In classic Grammarian form, I managed to sleep all of about 30 minutes last night. Thirty fracking minutes! I'm not sure whom or what to blame: the heat? The early light? Oprah? All I know is it's a lonely and disheartening feeling to be still awake as the birds begin their morning chirping and to remain awake as the trashman makes his rounds and your neighbors leave for work. The one upside to insomnia is that it gives me plenty of time to think about things, though sometimes that's not really an upside so much as a recipe for monumental disaster.

But anyway. When I finally dragged myself from bed, I actually felt pretty alert. I decided to bolster that feeling with a long and vigorous swim in my apartment complex's pool, which is unfortunately situated in the middle of the complex. No one was about this afternoon, however, so I was able to thrash about unobserved.

The swim did help, but by the time I'd downed my third glass of tea and raced to work, I felt wired and ... funky. I can't think of another way to describe it. Soon after I arrived, I just felt exhausted and funky, and that feeling's lasted until, oh, 10 or so minutes ago. WTF? Why must my second wind arrive but a couple of hours before the end of my shift? What did I do to displease you, God? I pay my taxes. I'm nice to children, old people and animals. So why? Why?!? Now the chances of me catching up on sleep are slim, and I am distressed. And wired again.

But hey, if you have any problems you'd like me to mull over for you while you slumber -- be they the world's or your own -- bring 'em on.