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Thursday, August 25, 2005

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.




9 August 2005

Streaking clouds.



Today I was rousted out of bed not by the phone but by someone knocking loudly on my door. I was sleeping so soundly that it took me a minute to convince myself that this was real knocking, not dream knocking. So I jumped out of bed and lit out for the door, only to realize that the knocking was coming from the kitchen. It was the refrigerator — specifically, the ice maker that isnít connected but doesnít know it isnít connected. It knocks like that every so often, but this is the first time Iíve ever tried to answer it.




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Stuff

The Giants didnít play today but they gained ground in the standings anyway because the two teams ahead of them that did play both lost. Itís great to be in a division where you can lose six out of ten games and still move up. Where you can be 16 games under .500 and still have high hopes. Where a 6-7 road trip is successful because it could have been worse. (Wait, that statement applies to any 13-game road trip. Not that baseball has sent any other teams away from home for that long this season.) Unfortunately, the Giants have to play tomorrow, so they canít help themselves by default. Fortunately, itís against the Mets, who are 3-14 all time at SBC Park.

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One year ago: Spike
"I like it when they seem to know what I want before I even tell them."


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