Another late start today. Again, I needed to sleep a little later than I usually like. Maybe it's time I finally accept my chronic insomnia and the fact that the day will start at noon and the concept of 8 a.m. is just a rumor or something other people do. Maybe this will allow me to get knee-deep back in to caffeine again. Who needs real drugs when there is caffeine to make me feel narcissistic? Drugs are, as I learned and as William Burroughs once said, an inevitable part of life.
So too is sleep. Not that I would know much about the subject. I truly believe I could sleep all day. If no one came to wake or it was socially accepted, I really believe I could log more than 12 hours at a time in my bed. You know, like a hibernating bear or Pete Sampras. Turn up the AC, black out the windows, pull up the covers and doze.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
So why don't I? Society, of course. And the fact that I think there is a chance that all of the saccharine sweet dreams I have, and all of the chest-thumping and career-advancing ideas I get while in the arms of the fickle mistress that is sleep, will somehow come true. When I sleep I am happy. Nothing bad ever happens. For once, I am in charge.
That wasn't the case this afternoon, though. Since the sun was shining and I didn't have anything planned, I took a book out to my backyard to read and possibly fall asleep in a chair. And just so I wouldn't be lonely, I brought my dog to keep me company. A developmental-challenged five-year-old, Katie, a chocolate Labrador retriever, is not the best companion if one is looking for quiet time. Sure, she's a very pleasant dog and quite a delight to have around because of her always-sunny disposition; however, she is as fidgety as a wolverine on speed. The poor girl just can't seem to ever sit still. It's as if she is Sisyphus, but enjoys the constant work out of rolling a rock up a hill and chasing it to the bottom so she can roll it back up again.
She really is very annoying.
Anyway, I took the cushion of a plastic lounge chair and placed it flat on the ground so that I could fully stretch out. In this position, I could transform from reading to sleeping mode instantaneously. After all, efficiency is the goal of any reader/sleeper.
I also brought a rawhide bone for Katie so she could release all of that nervous energy into something constructive instead of crying and whining when I didn't pay attention to her. The rawhide also acted as a crime deterrent if Katie decided to walk away and get into trouble at the other end of the yard or on the neighbor's side of the fence. She has been known to squeeze through an opening in the fence and barge in next door like an expected guest. And since dogs have no conscience, Katie's tail and decorum become much more obnoxious when she enters into other environs. She's kind of like a five-year-old boy in F.A.O. Schwartz -- in order to get her back under control, a person would have to tackle her and then drag her out by the collar.
Annoying and nuts.
Regardless, Katie and the rawhide are having a wonderful time together on the sunny Saturday, and my book and I are a dynamic duo as well. In fact, the book was strong enough to knock me into a state where I was semi-coherent, like a boxer that took a bunch of punches in a row to the head. I wasn't quite awake, but I wasn't out for the count either. Occasionally, I would shake my head to clear the cobwebs so my eyes could focus on the next word as my brain continued to referee the fight between slumber and literature.
But just when sleep was about to land one last, devastating haymaker, Katie started digging in the dirt an arm's length away from my head. It seems as if she had enough of the rawhide and rather than continue to chew it, she decided to store it some place safe for later. Her problem, though, was that she couldn't find a suitable storage area. Just as soon as she would make progress with one hole, she gave up and began work on another like fickle developer who can't decide if he wants to bulldoze and old farm to build a Wal-Mart or a Target.