Yesterday odyssey for live football brought with it a probability, nay a necessity, to consume alcohol. This led to an inevitable pizza and spilling of coca-cola over the living room floor. I ended up asleep a lot earlier than I would have done if I was sober: I am a 3Amer on weekend nights when it comes to going to bed.
My body clock doesn’t know where it was up to this morning when I woke at 4am after six hours sleep or so. Sleep less likely than four numbers and a bonus ball, I went into the living room, avoided the wet patch where the Coke had been cleaned up and watched some American College football. The I watched MUTV, the Manchester United dedicate channel, for several hours waiting for my partner to rise.
I often find myself wondering where all the time goes. Why don’t I seem to read anymore? Why haven’t I watched those great films? Why am I falling behind with the piss-poor blog?
And it goes here: It goes lay on a bean bag watching some young Americans play their version of football and then some extended highlights of a Manchester United game from ten years ago.
Getting up at 4Am is no way to live. By three in the afternoon I am exhausted but aware that if I take a nap it will last several hours and I won’t sleep later. Being able to get to sleep on a Sunday night has definitely become something that I care about. I don’t care about it a lot. I care about it as much as I care about someone I work with not enjoying their lunch. No, I care about it more than that because I don’t care about that at all. Let’s not worry about quantifying how much I care but it’s something I think about. What a terrible stage in life.