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5 am wakeup
Mar. 7th, 2004 05:17 amThe counterintuitive arrangement of LJ's features is resulting in considerable marine-blush-inducing commentary. But I shall answer it, I shall, I shall.
5 am is not a bad wakeup time for jetlag - my usual experience of the circadian malfunction is to become stone cold awake at 2 am and have nothing to do in a hotel room but watch CNN. Luckily waking early meant I was already conscious when Tim started up his glass-shattering mews. He wants to play with Frank. Frank wants to reestablish his dominance, so just growls and ignores Tim. More mews. More growling. More windows and drinking glasses in pieces.
An obscene amount of catchup to do here. Normally I fastidiously clean the house before we go overseas; not this time, pal. There is of course all the crap we brought home to be processed in one way or another, plus numerous projects left on hold, such as the layout for the Cat Who Walks Through Time II zine. Plus the universe's missing dark matter in the form of our dark laundry.
Frank keeps sitting on the keyboard and ejecting the CD, or increasing and decreasing the volume at random. Conveniently, I'm not actually trying to play anything, but I wish he'd keep his bum off the buttons.
5 am is not a bad wakeup time for jetlag - my usual experience of the circadian malfunction is to become stone cold awake at 2 am and have nothing to do in a hotel room but watch CNN. Luckily waking early meant I was already conscious when Tim started up his glass-shattering mews. He wants to play with Frank. Frank wants to reestablish his dominance, so just growls and ignores Tim. More mews. More growling. More windows and drinking glasses in pieces.
An obscene amount of catchup to do here. Normally I fastidiously clean the house before we go overseas; not this time, pal. There is of course all the crap we brought home to be processed in one way or another, plus numerous projects left on hold, such as the layout for the Cat Who Walks Through Time II zine. Plus the universe's missing dark matter in the form of our dark laundry.
Frank keeps sitting on the keyboard and ejecting the CD, or increasing and decreasing the volume at random. Conveniently, I'm not actually trying to play anything, but I wish he'd keep his bum off the buttons.
