Like a minuteman, caught sleeping on guard, my brain starts up suddenly, agitated by nothing but its own inertia, temporarily misplaced. Then it collapses, as quickly as it had risen, into a formless jello-mass on the floor beside my bed. From about 11am-2:30pm, my jello-mass allows itself to be dragged grudgingly around, producing little besides one very clear conviction: two hours was a bad idea.
My weekly marathon in the student publishing office, running almost continuously from about 1pm Wednesday straight through to Thursday morning, had ended at 9am--Issue #3 went to bed two hours earlier than it had in previous weeks, and I rushed accross the Main Green to grab these two found hours. This was a very bad idea. Two hours is nothing but a thorough preparation for sleep, and this is how I awoke. Not rested, but feeling the need quite intensely. After some hours of groggy battles for consciousness, aided by my once-enemy, now-temporary-ally Caffiene, I regained the sleepless giddiness that have come to characterized my Thursdays.
for all those interested in following my weekly labor, you can come to the baby shower thursday nights at www.theindy.net. If you want to watch me give birth, and hear me scream through the contractions and labor pains, you'll have to visit me some Wednesday night in the delivery room.