5am and its the third period of game six
Ok, it’s game six, third period, the Wings are down a goal, and me and Luke are the only two assholes awake at this hour listening to internet radio. C’mon, Detroit, make this massive amount of stupidity worth it.
Last night we had a birthday party for Justin, who just turned 27. Muff dives and water guns. Madness. I punched out early in favor of my Wings. Still, only operating on a few hours sleep for the last few days. Really must try to change that at some point. I’m told we have Sunday off, so with any luck I’ll be able to recharge this weekend. But fair warning: I may at any point in the next few days start misspelling every other word and ceasing to make any coherent sense. I can’t quite tell you how absolutely bone tired I am these days. It’s a good tired, though. The kind of exhaustion that comes from manual labor, hard work, and exertion, not the kind of twitchy weariness you get from being constantly wired by office machinations and tax implications. This is the way humans were supposed to feel tired. It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling.