Tired

Holy crap I am tired. The past two nights the world has conspired to prevent me from sleeping. Sunday night I decided, because of a deadline at work, not to go to Sanctuary despite it being the first night at Sonar. I'll have plenty of opportunities to photograph the club in the future, so I took the more prudent course of action-- and regretted it. It was too damn hot to sleep. As I lay there, not sleeping, until well after 2 a.m. all I could think was, "If I had gone out I would just be getting home now, I'd be just as tired, but I would at least have a few pictures to show for it and would have had more fun." Some time after two I did manage to nod-off, only to be woken up at 3:50 a.m. and then not being able to get back to sleep again because of the heat. Showing up for work Monday morning on less than two hours sleep is not my idea of fun.

Nonetheless I made it through the day relatively well. In the evening, I pulled my old Underwood typewriter out onto the balcony table and sat outside and finally managed to get a first draft of my artist's bio written up.

Being in a zombie-like state of over-tiredness I inadvertently let a little too much time slip by while playing Sim City in the later evening and was slightly horrified when I realized it was a little after midnight and my chances of catching up on my sleep were already shot to hell. I managed to get myself into bed sometime around 12:30 or so, with the prospect of what I hoped would be at least a decent 7-hour sleep before the alarm went off.

It wasn't in the cards.

Around 2:30 I heard a knock at the door (exhausted or not, I am I light sleeper). It was our downstairs neighbour in a very distraught state. Her cat was very ill and she had no idea where to take it at that hour. I was a more than a little tired and quite befuddled at that moment. I fumbling tried to give directions to the animal emergency on 4th Ave., she thanked me and left. I went back toward the bed and realized my directions must have been nonsense and couldn't just go back to bed. Instead I put my glasses on and a proper pair of pants (as opposed to pyjama pants) and went downstairs to give better directions and help.

I drew a map, helped her find the place in the phone book for the exact address and phone number to give to a cabbie, and found out what was wrong with the cat. Apparently the cat had been going insane and having psychotic episodes. The owner's arm was covered in bites and she had two stitches below her right ear where the cat had gone for her throat. The cat had been on prozac for a while and it just wasn't effective anymore and the cat had attacked her again. At roughly 3:30 in the morning I found myself wrestling a psychotic cat into a cat carrier.

Afterwords I was worried my directions were bad, worried about the cat, and worried about the neighbour and so couldn't get to sleep again. However tired I was yesterday, it pales in comparison to today.

This morning our teary-eyed and equally exhausted neighbour came up and told Elaine that the cat had to be put down. Elaine bought her some flowers, having had to have her own cat put down about two years ago and so knowing first hand how she must feel. This afternoon our neighbour came up to drop off an unopened box of litter and an unfinished bag of cat-food in thanks for what little assistance I was able to offer. Seeing tharsis and _jazz_ she began to cry again. Poor girl...