guhhhh

The fucking cat which will not stop waking me up at ten minutes to four in the morning with his claws ripping at the part of the boxspring closest to my ear until I rise to give chase, shaking with incoherent anger, moistening the air between us with a spray bottle, falling back into my pillow, ruining the chaste magic hour with a pile of fucks and assholes and fuck-you-you-fucking-assholes, the fucking cat I am going to fucking kill.

As it happens, I worked till midnight. This is my week for doing that. I wasn't doing my supposedly usual job, which is operating the loader; I was instead cleaning the trommels, which basically means crawling into a dark, sweaty, stinky, hot 10' cylinder and blasting off all the caked-on (in this case, extremely wet) compost with a high pressure air wand. I can still smell it on my hands and in my hair (and so, on my pillow) even after two showers.

There is no point in going back to sleep until the sun has fully risen and the silly nocturnal cat is fighting back sleep from his dumbass eyes. There is no point. And so,

there is no sleep. there is no sleep. there is no sleep.