I got up way too early today. My new catty corner neighbors seemed to have decided 3am was an excellent time to drag something loud, heavy and possibly rusty up a flight of stairs. Normally, I am a deep sleeper, but since my bedroom shares a wall with the interior hallway, I got front row seats to the action.
I lay/lie in bed listening and not believing there was someone making all this fucking noise. Then I worried maybe the rusty, loud ass heavy thing had gotten away from them and they were lying underneath it with tweety birds circling their heads.
At this time of the morning there is nobody to call. Calling my mother results in a panicked, “Who died?” or avoidance from others, like my bestie who once remarked, “No good phone calls happen after 11pm or before 8am.” as we sat in her Westwood apartment watching her clear phone “ring”. Most of my friends who were rabid nightowls (like me) have since found a medical therapy, which has eliminated the condition (unlike me).
I could start with the stack of grant proposals I need to read and annotate. I could do nanowrimo. I could slip into a hot bath then bundle up and head downtown for a yummy overprice hipster breakfast. I could take a trek across Lake Champlain via the scary ferry and wander around discount chain stores until Target opens at 8am.
Which of course, would be just in time to contact my bestie.