I sometimes do not like going to sleep at night, especially when I'm alone. It's 1:30 a.m., I've been exhausted all day, didn't sleep well enough last night. I've visited Sarah on Vox and caught up with her life. She's friends with the Chicago friends I lost touch with, though I didn't mean to, but it was fun watching them dance. I've read the WeLL. I've read David Hornik's Vox page when I found him: we ended up next to each other on a flight from Chicago to Hartford in September, of all things. I checked Birke's Facebook page.
There are squirrels in the attic, running back and forth. I sleep with earplugs.
So I'm not going to sleep yet, but will soon. I have no energy. And yet.
There is something else, though. Today I learned to hit a golf ball. I feel like this should be a post all its own. I've never hit a golf ball before, not once. The one time I tried (Full Moon Golf, Golden Gate Park, drunk with Gary and his friends, 1999), I missed. But today, my mom, Chuck (stepdad) and I headed to the Long Lake driving range, got a bucket of balls and two spots on the upper level. Chuck arranged my hands so that I could hit with more force and I whacked balls. Might have to try doing that on a course. I might be able to see the appeal.