Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two (aghrivaine) wrote,
Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two

Blue Devils

After a weekend of gamer-y goodness, and late-night partying, I got home Sunday afternoon. I'd had very little sleep the entire weekend, and none of it anywhere other than a floor. I immediately had to drive into downtown LA to do some work at our data-center (and the wonders of One Wilshire deserve their own entry) before I could get home and relax - which entailed several hours of driving in traffic and getting lost due to road closures. (I.E. - typical LA driving experience)

By the time I got home, I was truly knackered. I was also overwhelmed by a serious case of the screaming blue devils. Absolutely hipped. I couldn't figure it out... why, after finally connecting with my tribe out here in LA and having a splendid time of it, was I so down and out? And in addition, I had a splitting headache, and couldn't concentrate on any thing. Could it be because my favorite dog in the world died on Friday? (She did, too, and it's very sad) Just LA funk? What?

Then it struck me. I hadn't had a drop of coffee all day. Not a smidge, not an iota. I would have laughed, except that I was too hipped even for that. But at least I knew it was temporary. I tried to watch "Lost in Translation" but I was too tired to concentrate on it. Which is not to say it's not good (it is) but not much happens, so I kept drifting off. Finally I gave up the fight, and went to bed at 8:30pm. I slept right on through until a good early start this morning.

And now, having slept a ton, and then had a splendid but light breakfast on the patio of a local coffee shop, I'm adequately (or perhaps excessively) caffeinated, and I've recalled that I finally have a little money in my pocket (considerably less thanks to Sprint) and the weather is spectacular, and in the book I was reading, Jack Aubrey finally got to hoist his broad penant and head for the Med to give a drubbing to Boney.

In short, all is right with the world - or if not all, at least a large enough percentage as to render the last trifling nonsense the sort of bagatelle at which I laugh heartily whilst making rude remarks about its mother.

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