You Can Sleep When You're Dead. . .

So it's 12:21 pm and I'm still putting off reading Act I of The Tempest, which I need to do before my 1:00 class. No, I'm not afraid I won't understand it -- Shakespeare isn't that difficult to me -- I'm just tired and lazy. You see, I have this theory: everything fun happens at night. Why waste my time sleeping, when I could be talking with random people about equally random topics. Take last night, for instance. I spent 10 pm until 2 am talking with a couple of guys I didn't really know. Now, however, I may know them better than some of my closest friends.

The night before last was spent at some random truck stop because my friends all became hungry at midnight -- the same time everything closes. The guy sweeping the McDonald's parking lot directed us to the truck stop, which we left at approximately 1:30. And so on.

Tonight was going to be my binge-sleeping night (I sleep like a bulimic eats: too much, followed by not enough) until I got a call yesterday. "Could you work for me tomorrow night? I just got tickets to the Keith Urban concert." So now I'm working 8:30 pm through 1 am. Which means I won't get to sleep until 3 again. Which means I will be tired all day, take a nap tomorrow afternoon, and be up all night. And so the cycle continues. . .