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Don't wanna end up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard
Monday, March 14th, 2011 08:09 amSo, home from the Sleep Lab, where I did not rest well. The tech informs me that, yes, I do have sleep apnea, but! since it happens during REM sleep, and only during REM sleep -- which kind of Explains A Lot -- I'm very likely going to be scheduled for a rematch. This is all, of course, contingent upon the doctor's reading of the tapes.
Drove home in the dawning, radio on loud, singing along to that ageless romantic ballad from J. Geils, "Love Stinks," and, as the astute reader will deduce from the title of this post, Mr. Paul Simon's "Call Me Al."*
In the realm of Explaining A Lot, I was told that dish detergent is best for getting the contact cream out of one's hair, and it did work a treat -- prolly why the shampoos provided in such clinics as does are so harsh, as was reported by some of the F'list.
Anyhow, time to rustle up some oatmeal and another three or four cups of coffee, make a sammich and head out to the day-job.
See you on the flip side.
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*I wonder how much thinking room inside my head is cluttered up with lyrics, odd bits of poetry, and clips like, In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the name of Canty, who did not want him. On the same day another English child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him. All England wanted him too. ...and how much smarter I'd be if I could jettison it all.
Drove home in the dawning, radio on loud, singing along to that ageless romantic ballad from J. Geils, "Love Stinks," and, as the astute reader will deduce from the title of this post, Mr. Paul Simon's "Call Me Al."*
In the realm of Explaining A Lot, I was told that dish detergent is best for getting the contact cream out of one's hair, and it did work a treat -- prolly why the shampoos provided in such clinics as does are so harsh, as was reported by some of the F'list.
Anyhow, time to rustle up some oatmeal and another three or four cups of coffee, make a sammich and head out to the day-job.
See you on the flip side.
_____________
*I wonder how much thinking room inside my head is cluttered up with lyrics, odd bits of poetry, and clips like, In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the name of Canty, who did not want him. On the same day another English child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him. All England wanted him too. ...and how much smarter I'd be if I could jettison it all.
