Can't spell insomnia without MIA

It's two am.

I am wide awake.

blink blink.

W-I-D-E A-W-A-K-E.

In my living room. Gone AWOL from the bed because isn't that what you are supposed to do? Only sleep in bedroom, no fidgeting.

Where did I go wrong?

I suppose I slept in too late this weekend. That probably robbed me of a decent night's sleep last night and tonight. When you sleep 24 hours total in a weekend, why would you need weekday sleep? Aren't you supposed to not sleep in?

I suppose I shouldn't have taken ONE Tylenol PM last night in order to start the week off on the right sleeping foot since i slept until noon both days. I was strung out on it well past 4pm and useless at work. I was so exhausted from being drunk on whatever a half dose does to you that I fell asleep for twenty minutes this evening.

I suppose I shouldn't have taken a power nap at 7pm. I was just so tired from being drunk on Tylenol that I needed to give into the exact urge I had been fighting for 12 hours.

I suppose I should have been less combative in a meeting today, but I have no patience for self importance amid your post-it notes.

I suppose I should be more patient, or at least, learn to let my mini-grudges go. I think a large part of my insomnia is residual anger that just snowballs.

I suppose I should be less angry, and might learn from his that going to the gym exhausted is better in the long run for your mental well-being. Working it out at the gym is better than muttering to yourself about everything you are angry about at 2 am on an idle Monday night.

I suppose muttering might be ok, because it drowns out any creaks and groans from my apartment building that are crazed lunatics trying to break in. My windows might be 7 feet off the ground, but lunatics are raised mighty tall these days, and are hankerin' for a break-in.

I suppose whipping through "The Boleyn Inheritance" is not the best way to soothe yourself to sleep. First of all, it's heavy enough to fend off any potential attackers, and secondly, it makes me angrier about girls treating each other horribly throughout history, the lack of feudal feminism, and how I might end up poisoned or beheaded, or both.

At least there's Bourdain on for me at this hour. He's in Brazil, the least I could be in is lala land.

Too pooped to pop.

I've been "on" for almost 2 week and I am exhausted.

I've been on 4 job interviews since not this past Friday, but the Friday before.

I also spent some time with the DK's lovely family, and even though they are lovely, it's still time to be ON! SHINY! NEW! PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE, THOUGH LACKING JEWISHNESS. PRETTY?

I've had to sell myself left and right.

You want creative problem solving? it's called TAKING AMTRAK, not GREYHOUND ever AGAIN!

Communications skills? I have carried on conversations with children onto grandmothers, and written about 45 thank you notes.

Experience? I'll give YOU experience!

Dry cleaning? Check.

Emergency pedicure at the dirtiest salon EVER (bebe nails on Penn ave, SE. NEVER Go. Let's just say "dirty, used toe dividers" and "wet, used flip flops". Oh and the lady killed a bug by smacking it on my friend's leg, but I digress.)

Check.

I haven't sworn, eaten something garlicky, not sat straight up with my legs crossed or smiled encouragingly in ages. I am out of nice clothes to wear, inoffensive stories that would make anyone giggle, and looking around the room for conversation starters. Like you in a frame with Bill Clinton. I am perpetually ready to impress someone. Anyone.

You there, with the umbrella on the street, I HAVE PLANNED SOME SPECIAL EVENTS.

Madam who kindly took my Chinese take-out order, may I go on and on at length about my killer communications skills? You know, by ordering the amount and THEN the type of fried rice?

Oh sir who held the door for me, I could creative problem solve your life, if you'd just let me.

Kindly CVS check-out person, I know that you are a non-Catholic, and I am a lapsed Catholic, but let me prove to you how awesome I am so that you don't worry about that so much. Extra Care!

Please like me, anyone out there. I am a laid-off, lapsed Catholic desperately seeking a job I can wear jeans to, have funny co-workers, occasionally read the internets, and get paid better. Skills include: gets along well with grandmas of all faiths, ability to eat large amounts of ethnic delights, ably timing my arrival with public transportation. Basset hounds a plus.

ALSO

My alley is swarming with fire fighters. I think it's the building the PIRG is in? I walk by it every day, but I couldn't tell you now. I saw the firefighters walking around on the second floor. The building is narrow and non-descript, between the WSC on Dst, SE and the American Legion Hall.

Searchlights. Hose. No visible smoke. Lots of yelling. Men in the bottom halves of their suspended fire suits in their DCFD t-shirts all up in the tunnelled alley.

I am that kooky lady peering at these poor people through my blinds.

How on EARTH are people sleeping through this? How can you not watch?

I feel like I'm the only neighbor awake through the noise.

They see me peeking through the blinds and you can tell they wish I wouldn't.

So... internet. Got any answers?

Live blogging cable installation

1:00pm: my Comcast-given "window" begins. Any time now between 1 and 4pm a cable fairy will magically descend and let the food network come to my TV. I drool with anticipation (or was that the Dunkin' Donuts breakfast sandwich?).

1:10pm: I fret. What if the cable guy doesn't know that there's no buzzer. What if I miss him? Should I write a sign? YES! A SIGN!

1:24pm. Write "Hello Comcast, I am so effing thrilled that you are coming so I can watch Paula Dean eat butter. call me! xxx-xxx. thanks!"

1:26pm: Realize that's abhorrently geeky. Change sign to "Comcast: please call xxx-xxxx. Thanks."

1:29pm: Can't find keys to go put sign outside. WHERE ARE THE KEYS? Under the bed? No. In hoodie? No. In door still? NO!?

1:37pm: Finally find keys. On table, in plain sight.

1:45pm: Decide to actually update blog. Write half a post about how I like some tunes and wish they'd be in a movie sometime. Some brief googling settles that. Who knew Grand National was on the Transporter 2 soundtrack? Delete post.

1:54: A CALL!

1:57pm: Charlie, the cable guy arrives. He's a nice enough fellow, calling me ma'am (which is totally freaky) and I try to make idle chatter with him but he'll have none of it. He is here to get in and get out. Knee pads and all.

1:59pm: Charlie realizes there is no cable jack. NONE. That he'll have to drill outside, through a lot of brick, by the window to get cable into my living room. Charlie almost doesn't believe me, he looks around for a cable jack that does not exist. Swears slightly under his breath. Takes apart my window and looks for the sea of other cables on the building. Finds them. Notes how far the box is away from my house.

2:01pm: Charlie sighs. Deeply.

2:05pm: I take Charlie downstairs through the laundry room. He inspects some wiring, and sighs again.

2:07pm: Charlie brings his truck around the back. I realize that the back alley was just repaved, so he cannot park right up against my building. Must park about 15 feet away. He carries heavy things to and fro while I fret about breaking apartment building rules, namely keeping the door open with a piece of wood, and letting him at least U-turn on the macadam.

2:11pm: Charlie starts drilling.

2:15pm: Charlie still drilling.

2:25pm: Sweet Jesus, poor Charlie! He's balanced perilously on a ladder and leaning into the drill with all of his might. He's drilling through a foot and a half of brick. He asks me if I could hand him his bag through the window.

2:26pm: I hand Charlie his bag and inspect the progress. He's halfway there. Apologize profusely to Charlie. Charlie shrugs. Charlie drills some more.

2:28pm: I have visions of my neighbors throwing darts at my picture; of them cursing my name. The noise is unreal. I have visions of Charlie, day dreaming about laying on the couch and watching football.

2:31pm: Charlie abandons drilling for hammering. Swears softly again. Hammering goes SUPER loudly. Take that, STOMPY!

2:34pm: Headache ensues. Embarrassment ensues. I hope no one has a migraine today. Or is home. It's too pretty a day to be inside anyway. Convince self that neighbors are not at home, but rather out in the world!

2:37pm: SUCCESS!!!!!! Sweet success!!!!!

2:41pm: Charlie gets the box and everything installed super fast. I offer him a glass of water and a banana, but he just goes for the water. I wish I had coffee, or a cheeseburger, or like, caviar for him.

2:42pm: Charlie calls up Comcast for the job and asks them to let the cable on through. Let it flow, baby, let it FLOW!

2:47pm: No cable. Charlie calls up Comcast again and is all "There's no juice!". Tina, on the other end of the phone sasses him. He tells her "C'mon boo-boo. Do your job now." I decide I like Charlie. He is sitting on a huge coil of cable sideways in the middle of my living room telling Tina about herself.

2:52pm. I handed Charlie a check, thanked him profusely, and am sitting on my ass watching Project Runway reruns.

There is a god.