My Sweet Harlot

I know things have come to a head when I call my friend Addy on a Tuesday morning and ask her what she is doing at work, cursing the company for being slave drivers.

Addy is a little surprised at my vehemence: "But it's a working day, Jenn."

"It's Saturday!" I choke indignantly.

"Oh my God, it's Tuesdaylar. This sleep thing is really getting out of hand. You better get some, even if it's during the day."

OK thing is, I did. I only woke up in the late afternoon. But I woke up with my sense of time all skewed. I didn't sleep the night, although this time I had an excuse. Julie was leaving for Bangkok...

One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster
The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free
You'll find a god in every golden cloister
and if you're lucky then the god's a she
I can feel an angel sliding up to me...

and she was up all night, finishing her work, packing etc. Then at about four in the morning, we had to take off for the wild railed yonder, as in KL Sentral, where she would catch a bus to the airport.

On my way back, I felt myself zoning out, sleep creeping into the edges of my consciousness. This was not good. Not on our roads. I mean, it was now five in the morning and traffic was scarce, but there were still the heroes who thought they were trying out for the F1!

So got home in one piece, crept into bed, turned a few pages of Infinite Jest (you try reading this book quickly, go on, I dare you!) and fell fast asleep. Only to wake up at about two and perpetrate the following conversation on Addy, when I decided it will be fun to hang out like we did last Saturday.

Flashback: Last Saturday, Addy, who just got back from Italy, and was terribly jet-lagged, called at eleven, wide awake, and asked if I would like to go for a teh tarek. So we went, and ended up watching not one but two football matches, getting out of there at like five in the morning. In case, you're wondering, I'm not a sports fan. But I watched, and howled, and advanced amateur theories in the voice of a pseudo-pundit, nodded and shook my head seriously, irritated stupid men sitting around us, the serious fans, who wished we would just shut the fuck up...you get the picture.

So my nerves are as ragged as cheesecloth. I lash out at innocent bystanders. I take offence at imagined slights and feel like my life is going nowhere (actually, it is going nowhere). I relapse into my "nobody loves me" strain of thought (actually, plenty of people do). I start agreeing with Dylan (was it Dylan?) who said that life is one long process of getting tired.

Sleep. Ahhhh sleep.

Sweet harlot of the senses.

Delilah of the mind.

Good night.