For some reason, when the alarm went off at 6:30 this morning, I got right up and was/am wide awake. After last night’s company-sponsored festival of Christmas gluttony, I expected to crawl to the coffee pot, stare at it for 20 minutes wondering why it didn’t magically produce hot caffeinated wake-up juice, decide to force the issue and fumble around blindly throwing something I hoped were coffee and water into it, realize 5 minutes later that I’d forgotten to turn it on, then stagger back to bed. Ya know, like I do every other day.
But no! I’m as chipper as someone who’s just won 1st runner-up in Miss Chipper USA (damn you, Miss Iowa!).
Now, some would say that it’s because I got over six hours of sleep instead of my usual three. Poppycock! (No, actually, that’s probably it. I just like saying “poppycock”.)
So, why am I nervous?
The biggest flaw in this alcohol-induced slumber method (besides having to pay for tearing several shingles off the neighbor’s roof with my snoring) is the fact that my son apparently came in around 2am and took his PC to a friend’s house for a LAN party, and I heard nothing. Zip. Nada. I had to go and check his room to see that it was true. Meaning, of course, that the only things that stand between me and someone waltzing in and foxtrotting out with all our stuff in the middle of the night are our five attack cats.
I need a drink.
