Well, for a change of pace this morning, I got INTO the wrong side of the bed.
It happened like this:
I'd had some fucked up dream, I can't quite remember what it was about... it was still clear in my mind a good 30 minutes after I woke up, so clear that I thought I was unlikely to forget the content. But forgotten it I have.
Anyway, in the dream, I had... something to do... somewhere to be... I had to... go... somewhere...
Then I woke up, and got up to go to wherever it was that I had to go. And then I was like, "What the fuck? That was a dream, you fag. Back to bed, it's only 4."
And then I walked around my bed, and got in on the wrong side. I have no idea what sort of effect this had on my sleeping patterns, but you know, I still fell asleep - so I don't think it really matters. I just thought it was a nice twist on the old axiom.
Anyway, because of that interruption to my sleep, and another interruption that set me back a good 45 minutes last night, I'm kind of tired.
See, I'd somehow managed to orchestrate myself in such a manner that I could be in bed and asleep by 10:30... and then at 11. Ring ring. It's the phone. It's a private number.
Guy: What are you doin', ya cunt?
Me: Talking to you.
The guy passes the phone to some other guy.
Me: No, seriously, I'm talking to you.
This guy to first guy: Hey cunt, this ain't Johnno (or Daveo or Jeffo or whatever the fuck he said)
And then he hung up. I mean, really. The fucking nerve.