Sleep Comes Down

The last day and a half was an exhausting nightmare. After a fairly blissful day off, we picked up Kyle from school, came home, and rushed right out to soccer practice. There, his team scrimmaged another squad, and after scoring a goal and almost assisting on another, Kyle’s team won 2-1. Unfortunately, I had little time for celebration because Wednesday night means Quizzo and Guinness. Mmm . . . Guinness: Peakah’s nectar of the gods.

After breaking the sound barrier to get to Manny Brown’s on time, I threw open the doors to find . . . no one. No Badger. No Vinnie. No Sean. Swell. I found out later that Badger overslept (who thinks a 36-year old single guy needs a nap?), Sean was at the Phillies game, and Vinnie was putting his kids to bed. Any hoo, everyone showed up eventually, and we won first place for the third consecutive week – thanks in part to Badger’s knowledge of soap operas and Michael Jackson.

A few pints – and a delicious shot of grape vodka later – I came home, jumped into bed, and slept a not-so-refreshing four hours. Court comes early in Philly, and I was on the road by seven-thirty. Subpoenaed for two cases, I prayed to Jeebus that the ADA would make deals. I was much too tired to testify in any useful way. The ADA in my first case withdrew prosecution, much to my pleasure, since the case was flimsy at best. The ADA in the second case told me he needed me to testify. Fabulous.

A simple theft case turned into the Lindbergh kidnapping in moments, and the next thing I knew, it was pushing noon. I had to report for work at 3pm. The defendant in the second case was found not guilty, and I sped home to catch a lousy one hour power nap. After briefly debating whether I should post before work, I put my eyelids before your enjoyment. Sue me.

Cripes, I must be so tired that I am hallucinating. I thought I heard Hugo Chavez call President Bush “The Devil.”