Tonight, M.U. is celebrating her 31st Birthday at Club Foot. Years have passed since I set foot and hoisted beer there. I definitely remember liking this place. Once Mike and I partied there with some chick with a fake name and long black hair from the band Hot Heels (?). Blurry lust tinged with fear as I had just moved to "the big windy city," and everything was tinged with blurry lust and fear. I know the music will rawk--lots of punk, Smiths, industrial, and the like. I know the beer is cheap--holla! And I know there will probably be some Sweet Betties around to eyeball and for which to yearn/burn.
But I am exhausted. My sleep cycle is all out of whack. Nearly each night this past week I'm up until two or 3 in the morning, sleeping through my alarm. I didn't get up until noon today, checked email, read The New Yorker, and promptly fell asleep on the too small couch with Lilly next to me until four. It's now around seven o'clock, and I feel red-eyed and drugged. A Zombie with shaking coffee-filled veins. My back feels bruised on the inside. What the Hell is wrong with me?
Should I stay, or should I go now? This is the thought I clash with (hee hee, get it?). I could stay in and maybe get some frickin' sleep, maybe get to work on time. Or I could just go and see what happens. Worst to worst, I sit alone, drink a couple of cheap beers and be back at home around midnight, right? It has been a while since I've gone out.
Unrelated note: I think I found my neighbor on Friendster today...Hi, Carrie. Funny (to me) as she recently found me here at My Cube (see comment number one).