Around three, I woke up, the computer was on, and, irrational as only three freaking am can be, was convinced The Ring was being played out in my bedroom.
Even as I *thought* that, I knew how stupid it was. I *knew*. Because I'm not actually crazy, I just play the part with disturbing regularity and varying degrees of skill. I knew, logically, that I was actually probably too drowsy and just-wakened to make any kind of logical deducation on why my monitor was on like that. However, this logic did not go anywhere near my adrenal gland, which woke me right up.
So, let's all hear it for being awake three hours before you have to get up. I am currently pretending to do some of my online training and wondering if I can just *inject* soda straight into my veins to get this stuff going.
One of the handouts on my desk today was cheerfully entitled Burial Insurance: What You Can Exempt and What You Can Count. Because if I'm trying to determine eligibility, yes, I'm going to feel *totally* okay with asking some nice old lady, "So, what are your plans to die again? Show me an itemized list. Are you thinking coffin or urn? You can't exempt both, you know!"
What's really scary is, I got to class and started feeling the need to be funny in that disturbing sleep-deprived, punch-drunk way that never ends well. Oh God. I'm going to offend everyone in the class and probably get strangled during lunch. I'm going to make jokes about urns, niches, and covered funeral expenses and whether they're exempt or countable resources for deciding eligibility, and you know, if fandon has really destroyed my ability to read a book and *not* expect a climactic sex scene, I think this job has made it impossible for me to crack jokes that anyone but someone else who works here could possibly understand. That's all of maybe two hundred or so people in the state.
*buries head in hands*
I'm so doomed.
Me and the coffee I can smell are going to go throw a pity-party of two. *hugs cup close* Coffeee......