6:09 AM

For some reason, since the surgery I can't sleep any more.  Something yanks me out of R.E.M. sleep an hour before my alarm goes off (thankfully, I've so far resisted the urge to write bad poetry about it.  My poetry is almost up to Vogon standards).  I lie there in bed for half an hour, trying to remember my dreams.  Trying to ascertain some meaning from the parade of animals that followed me out of the viaduct and back into the restaurant with the glass plates on a glass table top.

Timing is everything.  I used to wake up feeling refreshed and invigorated from a good nights' sleep.  Returning after a good R.E.M. sleep, I would leap out of bed to start my day.  Hell, I even remember liking my job.  Now, not so much.  I hate the feeling you get (or at least I get) when waking up too early.  As the blissful, serene world of my unconscious slips away like the tide, to be replaced by all the worries, cares, and neuroses that are inside my head every day.  I can literally feel my body cringe with the thought of all the missed appointments, uncompleted projects, late paychecks, and Things To Do that cause me huge amounts of stress all day.

Welcome to my world.