Wednesday July 27, 2005
One of those strange, time-shifted days that happen when your sleep patterns are out of kilter.
I was up late last night, not feeling sleepy, and happily occupied with uploading photographs to Flickr. Graham’s working day doesn’t end until the bars close so his ‘goodnight’ call doesn’t generally come until shortly after one a.m. Normally, I am asleep then so it’s no more than a dozy exchange of all’s well greetings. When I’m up and about, though, it’s a more protracted exchange of news and gossip.
I went to bed shortly after that, no more than an hour afterwards, anyway, and woke correspondingly late. That shoved my shopping expedition back, and lunch even more so. More like tiffin than lunch.
My late afternoon siesta was interrupted by a call from Graham. He’d been thinking about the house sale position and said it’d be a good idea for me to contact the present agents urgently. “Give them a bit of a dressing down,” he said. I was reluctant, but couldn’t argue because he was right.
I made myself a strong wake-up coffee, and called the blighters, putting it to them that they were doing a less than acceptable job. The outcome of that and a subsequent exchange with Graham is that we shall be giving them a month more in which to sell our house at a considerably reduced price. If they fail, they will be under notice to terminate the contract and I shall then instruct new agents, on a much firmer basis. We’re tired of being kept at the bottom of some lazy gel-haired twerp’s file. Grrr.
Then, after a brief consultation with Dolly, I decided my siesta was incomplete. I turned the coverlet back, snuggled in, and went back to sleep. Bad mistake.
When I woke at ten to eleven in the evening I could not, for two or three minutes, work out where the hell I was, nor what time of day it was. It was dark when it should have been light and, allowing for a sleep-in, the bedside clock read 22-something instead of 08-something.
Oh, lackaday. Quite appropriately, really lack-a-day.
So, here I am, on a Wednesday that’s morphed strangely into a Thursday, just about to eat my dinner at a time when a late-night raid of the fridge would be rather more appropriate, and still needing to sort and assemble documents and stuff ready for the car exchange tomorrow. Except that it’s going to happen today.
If I weren’t feeling so good I’d complain about being confused. Oh, to hell with it, I’m entitled to complain if I want to. I’m confused.