Insomnia's Calling

When the vulgar insomnia gods woke me at 3am this morning, I spent nearly two hours too utterly tired and lazy to rise from my comfortable sinkhole of a bed. Not that I didn't consider getting up. It was tempting. Especially when the green light of my alarm clock read 4:30. But there were just too many cons. I mean, either I'd actually have to put on some clothes or just hope that the good people eating late at the nearby McDonald's wouldn't be able to make out my face as I traversed my living room naked. And if I did get up, surely I'd want breakfast. But eating breakfast would mean committing myself to the day. Because who ever would eat breakfast and then go back to bed on a Tuesday--only to wake up and have a second breakfast a few hours later? Double breakfasts on a Tuesday are against the law, resulting in prison time at the 24 Hour Fitness.

So as I lay in my sleepless bed, my mind wandered onto a few different things, beginning with the wild rumpus and the upcoming movie trailer Where the Wild Things Are. Would Maurice Sendak be content with the onscreen version? Will I? And why don't I own the infectious Arcade Fire song that plays during the trailer?

Completely unrelated, when will I ever be established enough in my career to own a Coach bag? And also unrelated, what are the odds of a plane destined for Lindbergh Field Airport crashing through my downtown San Diego apartment?

Well, it's always a party here in Insomniaville. Lucky for me, today was Cesar Chavez Day--a California state holiday, a reason to celebrate, and an excuse to sleep in.