The Nap Olympics

I won the gold yesterday. Just FYI and shit.

N.b., I can’t drink cocktails any more. Period. Why not? Just one knocks me clean out. Honest and true.

Jen and Oni were in Margaritaville this past weekend and, naturalmente, I had to join them. Yesterday, during teatime I had not one but two of those deviously delicious drinks. Not a smart move. (duh!)

And now for a musical interlude, Long John Baldry – Everything Stops for Tea.

Post tea, I came home and sat down to read. After finishing Sherman Alexie’s affecting memoir, I opted for a lightweight scifi/fantasy/murder mystery. Great escapism route, no? Yeah well, not so much seeing as the first few chapters are densely packed with an arena’s worth of character intros (and all their particular and peculiar supernatural qualities) and endless rehashing of the previous installment’s events.

This is a thin paperback but it should’ve come with a cast list and a warning to NOT read Grimrose until you finished Trick.

So then, I’m slogging through, playing catch up when the mighty, magic purr machine landed in my lap. Between her soporific vibrato, the hooklessness of this theoretical ripping yarn and the tequila, I fell into deepest Z-land . And woke at 7:30, quite certain it was AM not PM. I never sleep this late –  EEP! I rolled outta bed, downed my morning meds, grabbed Coco from her high tower and downstairs we went. I was a little tired but ready to start the new day.

The Mighty, Magic Purr Machine

Then I looked out the front door. Umlaut’s din-din was still there. 

Huh.

There is never so much as a morsel left in his bowl by morning. Even if our boy’s passed on supper, here at Chez Creature Doormat, we've no shortage of diners and there's a solid clean up crew haunting the wings.

It occurred to me that I should check the time on my computer – is it 7:30 AM or PM?

PM. Oh.

Now sober and wired, I went back upstairs (after giving the princess some always deserved treats) to brush my teeth, don my jammies and dive back into my thread crammed thriller. And, near instantly, fell back into Slumberville.

Maybe it’s the book and not the fruity adult bev? Nah, it’s gotta be both. Few things in this world are singly determined. Added to that, Coco is furry melatonin. Fer reals.

The amount of sleep required by the average person is five minutes more.
~ Wilson Mizner