A Fine Start

Warning: complaint marathon... go.

I tried to go to bed early last night, I really did. Having spent the day chasing children, and cleaning up, then chasing children, then cleaning up some more - the household was pretty exhausted, and we all know how things go if certain members of the household don't get a proper reboot. So, yeah - I was in bed early...

Fast forward to three hours later and the fatter of our two cats starts freaking out at the bottom of the stairs. Terri and I both bolt upright thinking it is Lydia, but alas, just a fat-ass cat with no concept of time, 5 hours early for her breakfast. No chance yer getting fed at 2:00 AM pal. This happens two more times...

So now I'm awake. And I can hear the pipes rattling, and by rattling I mean slamming against the floor joists and shaking the decrepit metal baseboard heaters in a most un-soothing manner. With each slam, I am both reminded of our ungodly heating costs and shocked that Lydia is still asleep. Neither of these thoughts is conducive to sleeping soundly...

And a half-dozen earworms are rolling over in my head - fragments of songs, a line hear and there, melodies with muddy words. Feist. Journey. That song from The Darjeeling Limited that Lydia loves about the spoiled rich woman, who keeps a racehorse for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha (you know the one). Periodically I roll over to check the clock and not surprisingly, each time is later than the last...

And my belly is stretched and swollen and sore from a potluck dinner comprised of a half-dozen incompatible dishes. Fish cakes. Nachos. Sweet and sour ribs. Boiled dinner. Birthday cake. I feel like I could probably vomit, with little effort, and worry that I am getting sick. I think about work and warn myself not to get sick, self, it is just not a good time...

Then, most bizarrely and disturbingly, my earworms are bumped by the phlegmy voice of a fat and goateed, post-coital Robert DeNiro from Jackie Brown, grunting "that really hit the spot", thereby ruining any chance I had of getting back to sleep. This plays over and over in my head for what seems like the rest of the night. And I lay awake staring at the ceiling fan, wondering where the heck that imagery came from, positive that my subconscious hates me.

And now here I am, tired and maybe sick and at work, making typos and ranting to teh pitiless internet. A fine start to the week.

EDIT: PSA - I realize that the above is 100% trivial and trite in comparison to recent events that I can not bring myself to watch. Thus, I encourage ye to donate to Haiti relief efforts. Terri and I chipped in this weekend and I feel marginally better for having done so. I believe this is the first such plea in the history of Aaron's blogdom (and I guess it is more of acknowledgment of my own vanity and guilt than anything else). Regardless...