It seems my brain will afford me the three hours of sleep and no more. I managed to sleep from midnight until my bladder demanded I evacuate at 0300-ish. Once I'd remedied the situation in the customary manner I returned to my bed only to stare at the ceiling for around half an hour.
Alright. Three hours of sleep it is. To be fair (if you just compulsively replied 'to be fair' in a faux-posh-British* accent you're my kind of people) my brain might simply be confused. It is, after all, accustomed to running on that amount of sleep. I'm nothing if not gracious. I will give it the benefit of a doubt and assume no guile on its part.
Suffice it to say. I'm awake. The house is not. It's dark. It's lonely. If you're also awake. And maybe also need someone to talk to, perhaps we could remedy each other's ailment.
I'm an illustrator trapped in the body of a software engineer. I'm a big, burly, bi-curious-curious, blasphemer. Married (lonely, not alone). Atheist. Progressive. Insomniac. Stoner. I write code to pay the mortgage, draw to sate my soul, and lift big heavy things for sport. 420 friendly.
*You owe it to yourself to say faux-posh aloud. It's a fun word. Like discombobulated, obelisk, and onomatopoeia.
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