I scheduled myself a three-day weekend, figuring I’d catch up on sleep among other things.

Friday morning I slept in a bit, and I assure you I reveled in the luxury. The rest of the day was busy yet fun, including meals at the Hot Cake House and NoHo’s.

Saturday morning I woke up, bright eyed and bushy tailed, at 8am. You know how it goes, sometimes, when you wake up and you know that you are absolutely up-and-at-‘em, not to sleep again until siesta time at the earliest? Yeah, that’s how Saturday felt. I cleaned house, then met up with Wendi & the kids for the previously-journaled dinner and movie fun.

Yesterday morning I woke up, bolt upright in bed no chance of going back to sleep time to get cracking… at 7am. I repeat: I woke up, fully, at seven o’clock in the morning, on a Sunday for which I had no concrete plans until evening. This could count as an injustice, but it gets worse.

Last night I went to bed at a fairly decent hour, knowing that my first day back at work after a three-day weekend is always “entertaining.” I tossed and turned for an hour. I got up again and watched an episode of anime to see if that would help. I went back to bed. At about 1:30am some jerkface down the street decided to honk his horn for two solid minutes. After that, I stopped looking at the clock. I was in full-on, stare-at-the-ceiling insomnia mode.

So today, I was an hour late to work, and I’m running on maybe two whole hours of sleep. Mondays suck enough without throwing sleep deprivation into the mix, dammit…