I have insomnia which has been treated with various zonk-out meds for about 15 years. But the pharmacy screwed up my prescription without telling me, and then closed at 5pm yesterday, instead of its usual 7. Thus, when I strolled in at 5:20, no luck for me. (This is what one gets for procrastination.)

I sleep with my laptop. Seeing as it’s a double bed and a single me, this is no real problem. (I did lightly touch the lid when getting back into bed just now, but panic saved the day. Singe had scooted down a foot or so, undoubtedly a little cool from the A/C.) I’ve done this ever since part of my ceiling caved in about a foot away from it in my last apartment. (I figure that in my bedroom, I might have a heads-up.)

Mind, this whole rationalization is a lie: My bedroom ceiling had already caved in the week before–a gallon of cold water is one hell of an alarm, and being (unusually) under the covers was the only thing that saved Julian (St. John’s dad and loyal backup laptop in case Bad Things happen to Singe or my daughter’s Aurelian). The truth is, St. John is my lovey. (Him and Max the cheetah.) But having a 250 GB boyfriend is lame.

Anyway, when I woke up half an hour ago and realized a) the massive overdose of ice cream for dinner was gonna get me in the morning and b) after 3 hours sleep I wouldn’t be good for much, I realized that choir wasn’t happening. So instead of waking up the desktop (Polycarp) and climbing into my chair, or stumbling out to the living room to whinge at Julian (out there facing potential flooded ceilings on his own; see italics above), I triumphantly just reached over to the honey. And here I am. Run-on sentences provided at no extra cost.

Wrote my choir director a brief note re the sickness that will make me fairly unhappy in the morning part of this morning, and took the back-up med with little hope. Oh well.

I used to refer to this phenomenon as the “3 a.m. squirrel,” a descriptive term which might have originated elsewhere–it’s common enough, God knows. It used to make me get up and write, but the novel is on Poly, and . . . no, wait. Never mind. So much for not writing. Hmm.

But the nice thing about the laptop era is that here I am with a large chunk of the planet. I can blog, I can play World of Warcraft, I can Facebook (that new verb). That said, it occurs to me that what I am doing is talking to my boyfriend, who at least is no longer grumpy about being woken up.

Another nice thing about laptops is that when St.John–whom loyal readers will recall had a recent trip to the vet–had his hard drive replaced last month, all I lost were a few small apps and a very little data. Can you replace your boyfriend’s brain? Can you? Nyah-nyah.

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