It's 2:59 a.m. and I'm awake.
It's actually not such a bad time to be awake if you're trying to cram just a couple more precious moments with friends into an all-too-short weekend, or have come across a book that's so good that the five pages just before bedtime have mushroomed as bedtime fled to the horizon. But I'm awake because I'm in migraine-land and have reached the no-sleep-for-you stage.
I did sleep for a few hours after the self-healing-through-positive-daydreams stage (which featured three fat and happy brown wiener dogs, courtesy of a recent Dog Whisperer episode.) Then I woke up, realized that I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep, lacked the coordination to knit, and didn't have much of an attention span. So the answer was clear: time for the interweb.
1st on the order of business was to google my name. The results included a bunch of Italian hotels, a couple of letters to the editor (my parish priest reads the editorials avidly, and feels that more letters need responses than he would be allowed to publish personally, so he assigns topics to members of his flock) and my amazon.com wishlist.
2nd was to make my wishlist private. And while I was there, I had a couple of presents to shop for. Over the last year or so, shopping for presents has migrated to my will-be-more-fun-tomorrow-or-maybe-even-next-week list, which causes some embarrassment since next week tends to mean a few months from now, yet the occasion which needs to be commemorated with a little something rarely skips through time quite so fleetly. Why is tomorrow so much more propitious for spending money? (Answer: it stinks to try and remember how much cash is in your checking account today, it also stinks to have to transfer money or go to the bank not that you could at 3 a.m., and making difficult decisions like whether to sign up for a free trial-membership of amazon prime [which would get the presents to you on time but would also require that you remember to cancel it within a month] is not-so-nice).
3rd was to scandal-monger. Can I still consider myself morally superior to the great unwashed since I consciously sabotaged myself by only looking at the City Journal's appraisal of the New York governor/Jersey Girl embroglio?
Now I've triggered a second wave, so I'd better lurch bedward.
