Sublime imsomnia

Well, I think I know why I was blue last night—maybe I just subconsciously knew that it would be another insomnia-ridden night. You know: drifting off to sleep only to jerk awake for no reason at all: repeat continuously until dawn. Having random Sublime lyrics running through my mind (She had rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes/ And I knew without asking she was into the blues) on a loop and alternately staring at D thinking how cute he is sleeping and really despising him for daring to be asleep when I can’t (She wore scarlet begonias tucked into her curls/ I knew right away she was not like other girls) It’s been five years now and still he wonders why he wakes up with bruises. I poke him for sleeping. (na na na na na naaa naaa…) Insomnia has never been that great for my sanity and reasonableness. (Well there ain't nothing wrong with the way she moves/ All scarlet begonias and a touch of the blues) When I woke up it was with that awful, I-have-to-face-the-whole-day-feeling-like-this fuzziness. (And there ain't nothin’ wrong with the love that's in her eyes/ I had to learn the hard way just to let her pass by.)
Today wasn’t bad though. Usually, the day after a bank-holiday is so frenetically busy that it negates the holiday entirely: we would rather give up our day off than deal with the morning-after. Today it was busy, but in a bustling, manageable sort of way. Sometimes if I don’t get enough sleep the next day I get these super-alert periods, where everything is really lucid. Maybe my fragile, sleep-deprived system is just especially susceptible to the caffeine (I love you, coffee. You’re my friend!) and reacts more strongly to it than usual, I don’t know. The most thought-provoking part of work today was that a co-worker of mine told me in the vault* that she’s crazy about some guy she knows, can’t stop thinking about him, etc. Apparently she’s felt like this for a year, and he’s just not interested. This may not seem weird to you, but she’s one of those girls who’s so pretty that when you meet them, you just think “no fair. She’d better be dumb or mean or something to make up for looking like that.”—which she isn’t. (I mean if you’re a girl you might think that. I’ve no idea what guys think. Well, some idea actually… but not this guy.) I know that there’s no guarantee at all for getting who you want, even when you’re a 19-year-old Salma Hayek look-alike, but still…Maybe he’s gay or something. I’m going to take a nap now, before D gets home (let her pass by. na na na na na naaa naaa…)

*If you work in a bank, the best part about the vault is that it’s pretty much soundproof and always locked. Good for gossip and confidences. Oh, and for counting the money, which is what we should have been doing.