Flat

It’s a Friday evening, it’s 8:12pm and I’m in bed.

I’m not sick: I’m just exhausted. This week has kicked my behind.
I lost. It won. It was a decisive victory.

A flare-up in my knee has dragged my recovery a couple of weeks backwards, and the associated time and effort to go and see the surgeon again, get another cortisone injection, get myself to another two physio sessions while feeling inflamed and sleep-deprived – on top of planning for the next two big projects at work – has finished me off.

If I sound a bit down and a bit sorry for myself, it’s because I am. But things will be better tomorrow (when you will be reading this). A good night’s sleep. The improvements that have come from those medical interventions this week. Scant plans that involve fun and exploration, while leaving time for watching some sport and enjoying some family time.

Not overdoing it. That’s important.

That’s why I’m in bed at 8:12pm on a Friday evening.

No sleep til bedtime

And then maybe not even then.

The beagle kept me awake for quite a lot of the night last night. Generally, the beagle is a very good sleeper. This probably comes from practising all day, every day – either in its basket or on the couch in the study. The commitment to attain new levels of extreme laziness is to be admired, but then, that’s basically what beagles are made for.

Last night was an exception though.

I’m not 100% sure what the problem was, but a gentle scratching in the kitchen quickly turned to crashing as several (or more) kilos of prime beagle meat repeatedly flung itself at the door in an effort to get me to come downstairs and let it out into the garden to ‘look around for stuff’ and have a pee.

It’s cold when you need to drag the beagle back in from the garden in the early hours of the morning. Colder still when you were cosy in bed before it started complaining.
But, finally it was relocated into its basket in the kitchen, and I was restored to my original position just beneath the duvet.

And then, 20 minutes later, it did it again. A quick glance at Mrs 6000 was all it took to make me realise that I was completely on my own in carefully defenestrating the dog again.

And so I did, and again, after 5 or more minutes of wandering around the garden and sniffing things, I managed to get it back into its basket.

And then, 30 minutes later… Look, you get the picture.

And once it’s happened a few times, you find yourself lying awake in bed, just waiting for the next whine, bark or splintering of the kitchen door. Even when (thankfully) none is forthcoming.

Thus, I am knackered. Look, I don’t really do sleep deprivation very well, but the good news is that from initial investigations, it seems that I can just about function on the couple of hours I got. That’s probably just while things are going well though. If you cross me today, I. Will. Cut. You. 

Oh, and a note on the beagle, because it obviously had an equally disturbed night. Well, while I dragged myself out of the house into the rain and off to the laboratory this morning, it was back to rehearsing its slumbers on the couch.

*forced smile*

Dog tired

It’s been a dog-dominated, sleep-deprived weekend. I asked my wife if she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

“No,” she replied, “I’ve bitten off more than I thought, but I can still chew it.”

I’m not sure that this says more about my wife’s determination or her dietary habits.
Or her gob capacity.
And right now, I’m too tired to care.