Why is it that the cats (still plural for now) know which days I have to get up in the morning?
I know they know, as they’ll spend half the night before I have an early call hissing at each other.
Not a continuous half, either. They’ll wait until I’ve almost fallen asleep and then start up just long enough for me to have to gain enough consciousness to threaten to kill both of them if they don’t shut the fuck up NOW, then I’ll lay there for what seems like hours, just start to drift off and then it’ll start again.
Furry little bastards.
So today, I showed up for work at 7 am having slept approximately 13 seconds the night before.
Which was fine, I guess, as we didn’t have anything too intense today – we had a few moves (from stage to a park, to another stage, to a parking lot to a third stage), but since we don’t have that much equipment that wasn’t a big deal.
Also, it was cold all day. Objectively cold, not California cold. The site formerly known as bunion has been registering its objection to being forced to move around in such appalling conditions by hurting like hell.
My main problem now is that I came home, looking forward to a nice faceplant into the bed and now I’m so tired I can’t sleep.
I can’t decide if I should drug myself or the cats.
It shouldn’t matter, though. I’m off tomorrow, so tonight will be hiss-free.