My body has decided to exact its revenge for keeping it up until 3 in the morning Thursday. It waited patiently until today, and then it unleashed a bout of narcolepsy not seen by the likes of me since the college years. I think this is the longest stretch (about 2 hours) I’ve been conscious since I went to bed at 1 last night.

Of course the real revenge will come tomorrow morning when I have to be to work at 9 and haven’t been able to sleep at all. Bodies can be so bitchy.

I think part of the sleep is partially Raymond Carver’s fault. I’ve decided to wrap up the year by reading nothing but short stories. I turned to ‘ol Ray first since it’s been ages since I’ve read any of his work. After whirling through “A Small, Good Thing”, I turned to “What Do You Do in San Francisco?” where I stumbled over the line, “She was cool as a cucumber.” Yeah. The cliché in the master’s story threw my brain into such turmoil that I immediately passed out.

So strong was the injury to my psyche that I dreamt I was Claire Danes trying to have sex with a much-older-than-me gentleman in a Walgreens.