Fetish

My heart leapt into my throat.
Love at first sight.

Signs, signs.

No swearing. No loud voices. No groups of five or more. And of course no laughing, talking, or shopping. I wonder if that 5+ rule applies to busloads of senior citizens....

Curses! Foiled again.

I've officially emptied the DVR of anything even remotely watchable. There's about four episodes of Human Giant, but i don't have the patience for something all shiny and new, and about six episodes of Thank God You're Here, but I don't have the stomach for improv at this hour. I've seen more King of the Hill than anyone should watch in a single day. I've got about four or five more episodes left, but I think any more might be permanently damaging to my psyche. Finishing every sentence with "I tell ya whut" might be funny, but I'm running the risk of getting punched in the face if I pair it with a constant overpronunciation of the letter W. My luck I'd just wake up a rambling mumble-freak like Boomhauer. Either way its probably not a good idea.

This is the inherent difficulty in sleeplessness. I can't get anything done. I've tried.... oh!, how I've tried. I've been back here in the office about seven times since ten, each with the best of intentions. I simply don't have the attention span at this hour. I tried to do paperwork. I tried to file. I even tried to reorganize the closet. Okay, well, I didn't really try to reorganize the closet. But I thought about it. Twice. That's got to count for something.

Its limbo, in its saddest, greasiest, tv obsessive form. I can watch any bad sitcom you throw at me. I'll watch it so hard! Ha. Anyway. I won't even watch a movie, under the misguided impression and/or hope that I really won't still be awake in two hours. I just can't muster up the focus to take these endless nighttime hours and put them to good use. Fortunately for me, every crap comedy sitcom ever made in the mid-90s is available in triplicate during the afternoon, thanks to the magic of syndication. Pair it with my DVR and I've got a whole night's worth of half-chuckles.

I started on the dishes, but only got as far as rinsing off a few things in the sink and turning on the plate warmer in the dishwasher to avoid having to hand-dry anything. My attention span ran out right around there. I though about vacuuming, and then convinced myself that vacuuming at this hour would be rude, and that I don't want to wake anyone. That's a lie. Of course I don't care about waking anyone. I'm almost positive it wouldn't disturb anyone in the first place. Well maybe the dog, but really, is it my fault she's afraid of the vacuum? No, I didn't think so.

Right about then I hatched my brainchild. Sending Eric weird picture messages is fun, but honestly how many messages can I expect him to wake up to? Enter the mobile blog. I've had this thing for years and it never really gets use. I putz around here and there, and inevitably purge it all when I come up unsatisfied. So why not plaster stupid pictures all over the internet whenever the mood strikes me? Further, who says it has to be in these weird restless pajama clad hours? I'm stuck in a car all day long with nothing to do but swear at the idiots in front of me. This could be great. Key word, could. Sprint's MMS server is down for maintenance. I can't send my initial message.