to play football, not to play trumpet
It Is Almost Time
Las Vegas screwed my system up something fierce. Since the World Series of Poker had nearly nine thousand entrants this year, play on the first couple days was scheduled to go to two or three AM Pacific time. It was 7AM in Michigan when I finally collapsed into bed after day one. I maintained that schedule during the downtime in an attempt to be as alert as possible for day two. When I got back, my sleep schedule was completely trashed.
I gradually recovered, but even in the best of times I'm something of a late riser. And by "something of" I mean "am completelly and shamefully". Eleven... noon... one. Thereabouts. (This is extremely irritating if I haven't prepared something for the blog the night before, as I am forced to scramble.) Sometimes the Man holding you down is useful, because he makes you get up at a respectable hour and prevents the minor bursts of shame that come from a weekday PM rising time.
A funny thing happened this week: I wake up, check the clock, and it says "9:02" or "9:27". No alarms. No early bedtimes. Just a mysterious sea change in my circadian rhythms apropos of apparently nothing. I was puzzled. But no longer: football, tomorrow. When I arise the clock will say "9:02" or "9:27," I will head out to the family tailgate and read way, way too much into Michigan's opener. Subconsciously I have prepared myself. Good job, subconscious.
EDSBS called yesterday "Football Christmas" and that's exactly right. These days Christmas Eve is mostly a reminder of lost childhood magic. I go to bed wishing that I could not go to bed, wishing that I was straining to hear reindeer hooves on the roof. Today I've got that old feeling, even though the threat of coal is far less abstract in this particular venture. But if you were a child who had suffered through a series of disappointing Christmases -- socks, socks, an apple, socks -- and one horrible one, one that put you off the idea of Christmas for months -- show us on this doll, Josh -- then you might really appreciate it when the skies opened up and hosannahs rained from the heavens as Christ personally descended and bestowed all five Dinobots upon you. And you might not think so badly of those past Christmases after all.
Go, extended metaphors! Go Blue.