You're awakened from a beautiful dream about a beautiful woman by the sound of Larry Updike screaming at you. The radio, the wretched clock radio, that relentless, sadistic piece of crap, has exacted its toll on your peaceful slumber. Mental expletives abound as you stumble across the room and turn down the volume. Larry is now talking at a tolerable level ... or at least it would be under normal circumstances, which these are not. The current abnormal circumstances are that sleep deprivation (as worth it as it all is) has driven your IQ into the single digits, and you have all the incoherence of George Dubbyah trying to defend his policies.
You do a dangerous thing: Without resetting the alarm, you lie back down ... just for ten more minutes or so. Somehow, you manage to rouse yourself again at the end of that, you get dressed, desperately hoping that you won't, in your sleep-deprived stupor, forget your pants ... that kind of a show your co-workers don't need.
The ride to work is a blur. You assume you were in a car, though it might just as easily have been a rickshaw for all you know, given your current state of alertness. You get to work, stagger into your office, and proceed to write an LJ entry, hoping that the words you have strung together randomly will look like sentences. Good night.
