I think my body is meant to operate in a 36 hour world rather than this 24 hour cycle that it’s forced to maintain.

I’ve never been able to keep a normal schedule - even when working a ‘normal’ corporate 9:5 type job, I could never get to sleep at a normal hour. Every night I’d stay up later and later, ’til I was eventually forced to pull an all-nighter, then, and ONLY then, would I find myself able to crash at an acceptable time.

Yesterday, er … I think it was yesterday. Yeah, it was. Yesterday was a weird one.

Went to visit my friend in the hospital and wound up there much later than I expected - lots of tests and such when someone tries to beat the life out of you, but thats a whole ‘nother thing. So I get back well after 10pm or so and decide to relax a bit before I get a project done for a client. Figuring the project would only take me an hour or so, I ended up doing what I usually do and procrastinated a bit …

My one hour project (that had to be done by 11am) turned into a 6 hour project and the next thing I knew, it was getting bright and sunny outside. But I’m done, and i won’t see the client ’til 11, so I figure 3 or 4 hours of sleep is better than none.

I get up just in time to meet the client, spend a couple hours with ‘em, and decide a nap is in order.

The nap turns into 4 or 5 hours of in-and-out of sleep on the couch.

Woke up, had breakfast for dinner, and now I’m totally confused. My internal clock is need of major repair.

Woke up to a voice mail today - A faint fragile voice on the other end of the line. A friend. One of those friends that I’ve spent a bit of time with over the last 5 years that never really became a part of the “group”, but also one of those people that I could always call, on a whim, to go have a drink and break away from whatever was bothering me or for no reason at all.

I assumed the weakness in her voice was the result of a heavy night’s drinking and cheering on the White Sox - she is a south-sider after all. She’d called me last night to see if I wanted to hang out and watch the game, but I turned her down — the last weeks been a rough one, so going out drinkin’ with an Irish south-side girl was the last thing I wanted to put my body through.

Reality hit me pretty fuckin’ hard when the words ‘he tried to kill me’ echoed over the sub-par cellular service I’ve been getting at home lately - I had to rewind the message to make sure I wasn’t hearing things.

She’d gone out to a local pub to watch her team win the series and wound up in the hospital, eyes swollen shut and on a morphine drip. She asked an on-and-off ex-boyfriend to join her for drinks, since I wasn’t up for the task, and he chose to follow up a night of cheering the home team with an attempted murder.

I should have been there for her … If I hadn’t spent the last week doing my best to destroy my liver, I’d have gone out last night. The voice mail this morning would have had the same tone, the same weakness, but rather than a morphine drip the prescription would have been a handful of aspirin and a bottle of water. A wicked hangover in place of bruises and broken bones.

I just have one question: Who the fuck thinks it’s ok to do something like this? To beat a girl to within inches of ending her life? I mean, for fucks sake, I can understand being an asshole when the Jager and Harp take over and spewing some ugly words, but what kind of a motherfuckin’ lowlife decides to try and kill a girl over a bad relationship?

I can’t help but feel guilty for not being there.

I was born in Chicago, spent most of my growin’ up years here, and came back when I was 20 after a few years away. I know this place like I know the bottom of a pint of Harp - Yeah, that well.

So, 3am rolls around - it’s about 45 degrees and drizzling a bit. No better time to go rollerblade to the bank, right?

With my ipod set to shuffle through a few hundred random songs, I set off … And ended up somewhere I’ve never been before. Rolling down a street I’ve been down a thousand times. All those little things you loose track of in the day time — when the streets are full of cars, people and chaos — just came jumpin’ out.

I felt like a tourist in my own back yard.

The HeartStart Home DefibrillatorDoes this scare the EVER LOVIN’ SHIT out of anyone but me?
Ya think maybe they should add a few additional steps to this?

Perhaps step 1 should read: Make sure the motherfucker you’re about to send a few hundred amps of juice through doesn’t have a pulse or heartbeat!

Ok, so … I’m not usually one to resort to pharmacuticals when things are getting rough - And really - my days of recreational drug use have pretty much come and gone.
Today though, I’ve finally decided to take a drug for the purpose it was intended for. The little blue pill - No, not THAT little blue pill - Xanax. A full review of my legal drug taking experience may follow …

Procrastinate

Pro*cras”ti*nate (?) v. t. [imp. & p. p. Procrastinated (?); p. pr. & vb. n. Procrastinating.] [L. procrastinatus, p. p. of procrastinare to procrastinate; pro forward + crastinus of to-morrow, fr. cras to-morrow.]

To put off till to-morrow, or from day to day; to defer; to postpone; to delay; as, to procrastinate repentance. Dr. H. More.

Hopeless and helpless ægeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. Shak.

Syn. — To postpone; adjourn; defer; delay; retard; protract; prolong.

So … I guess when you wake up drunk, drink a lot of water, take a few (5) asprin then go back to sleep the hangover isn’t all that bad. Not that I plan on doing that anytime soon. I’m done.

The patch is back on and doing it’s job - I did, however, slip once. Not really sure why - just suddenly had a craving that I couldn’t control, but I figure it’s OK - 1 smoke vs. my usual 40-50 is acceptable.

I really did manage to create my own little ‘perfect storm’ this weekend … The booze, the smoking withdrawal, and a relationship thats been in a constant state of fucked up all came together and exploded in my fuckin’ face. Most people that know me would probably describe me as a laid-back guy (read: cold), but well - that’s not me at all right now. It’s like I’ve got some wicked bitches PMS - my emotions are all-the-fuck-over-the-place.