Choices, Choices

Let's see. Got home from work tonight at midnight. I've been swamped lately with a pro bono asylum case that's coming to a deadline on 11/1, and I'm still a little groggy from a virtual allnighter I pulled two nights ago in Boston, after the big Sox win. Three hours sleep and a 7 a.m. flight out of Logan. Yesterday was a hazy blur. Ever been so tired that you don't even realize it -- your mind is stubbornly trying to convince your body that everything is normal and it's just... not... accepting... reality. And then your eyes start to half-close in the middle of the day and your head's bobbing like a helium balloon in a stiff breeze. Twice yesterday I nearly did a faceplant on my desk. It wasn't the stress kind of tired I normally get, but the real, exhausted, sleep-for-100-years kind. Rumplestilskenesque. Or was it Rip Van Winkle? I get them confused. Aren't they both old guys with long, white beards? One of them fell asleep a long time, I know that. And maybe the other one's a troll? Aw who knows. I was too busy sniffing the Play-Doh in kindergarten. Anyway, my head hit the pillow last night and three beats later my alarm was going off. Friggin' hate that. It's like I didn't even sleep, dagnabit.

So I got home late from work again tonight, and I had a choice. I could relax, lay down, and watch It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, the funniest show on television. Get a few yucks in and see if I could get my ass to bed by 2.... OR, I could try to crank out a lukewarm, lame-ass blog entry about how tired I am just so I can feel like I'm not neglecting while I come up with something more filling. Option Two it is. Nighty nights.