Fatigue and rolling Cluck-Mucker

Tuesday–2am…sleepless, frustrated, jacked up on nothing in particular. Finally find restless sleep in my own bed.

Wedneday–3:30am…beer didn’t work, neither did a workday that rivaled some of the toughest I’ve had. I’m awake in a hotel bed wondering why my employer didn’t shlell out more than $50 for a room. As I drift in and out of sleep, I find myself wondering the name of the last hooker who turned a trick in the bed and if she enjoyed the continental breakfast.

Thursday–1am…I’m in my own bed again but don’t feel much like sleeping. My well-fed dog is breathing softly. My wife has drifted off to sleep. I am home, if ever so briefly. Sleep comes eventually. I don’t remember dreaming…which is rare.

Friday–2:40pm…there hasn’t been a lot of sleep, but the end of the work week looms. I find myself relaxed, but in need of a stiff drink. Stiff, baby.

Wonder if the hotel hooker could help me with that?