This business of not sleeping, combined with that other business of not seeing anybody all day every day, is starting to make little inroads into my sanity. Iím teetering on the naked edge of the deep end about half the time. The rest of the time Iím okay. Itís a little hard to keep up with myself sometimes, because the mood curve swings up and down so radically.
Whenever I think I have a plan, I should really check it against reality to see how well itís going to work. Leaving the phone on all night is something I have to do, at least until Kylie is born, but I tried to talk myself into the notion that itís a good thing, because I didnít have to worry about turning it back on first thing in the morning. I could just sleep in until the first time it rings. Sometimes that might not be until ten oíclock, and wouldnít that make life a little zippier?
But no, it hasnít worked out that way. Yesterday I had a phone call at 7:30 am. Thatís way too early for me to be coherent, but I think I convinced the caller that I wasnít the Icee company. I get that so often because their number is the same as mine, but with two digits transposed, and apparently ten digits are too many for Some People to dial without mixing a couple of them up. (I should know, since Iím often one of them.)
Iíve considered telling these ham handed callers that Iíll send someone out to fix their Icee machine right away, or giving them the Bossís number and telling them to call him for service. They would have no idea what kind of service theyíll be getting, but Iíll bet theyíd be more careful dialing the next time. But Iím always polite to these idiots. Way more polite than most of them, who seem to blame me for not being the person theyíre trying to call.
Sometimes Iím not so sure who I am, but Iím almost always fairly certain of who Iím not. And Iím not the Icee repair dispatcher. Itís so hard to get back to sleep when youíre accused of misrepresenting yourself. It makes me wonder how politicians ever get any sleep.