Awake Until Further Notice
I cannot yet figure out why I am not sleeping. Unlike my twenties, I no longer try and move heavy furniture at 3:00 AM. This is a mostly a good thing, but it does mean that the capacity of interior decoration is unexercised and flabby. And Casa del Grant looks like a frat house, less beer signs and more fiber/yarn. Work has become a bleak sea of paper and overdue requests: the perfect nightmare. When I am terribly frustrated, sleep deprived and angry (and it is inappropriate to kick furniture) at work, I cry. This totally misrepresents paper rage and often elicits sympathy from the nearest co-workers, which is a really bad idea. So here's the 8:03 PM plan: 2 oz Single malt (18 yr), 4 ounces of New Zealand blue and purple merino worked into a single ply, NPR's Wait Wait podcast and, if I run out of audio at any point, the lovely Carla Bruni's first album. (If you haven't had the pleasure, go listen to the the girl snuggling in with Sarkozy and the reason why the French ...