When a butterfly flutters its wings, somewhere there is an earthquake

In other words, this is another totally nonsensical post. Not that my previous posts were ever Pulitzer worthy. Anyway, I had an inspired moment to blog, but as with all things associated with DC, as I ponder (to fine tune the general theme) I procrastinate. Either that or my i-tunes to putting Coltrane now and I think I am getting into the spirit of free spirited improvisation. Read: I am blabbling incoherently.

Two days in a row I have slept below my safety limits. I got some sleeping pills from my company quack as insurance that I won't see three. But this is really taking a toll on me, I was pretty certain I could sleep like a babe (pig) last night but Jack & me took a good hard look at the remnants of our Glenfiddich, knowing full well another two bottles have landed last night (a big thank you to Justine and Sheryl btw) and proceeded to finish it. And after lapping up the last drop, we proceeded to devour the Beefeater that was still lying around. Must have been a long time since I had anything other than whiskey/brandy/cognac/tequila so that was good. Anyway, as with each time we drink at home, we drink with such passion that it feels like time stood still. As though we were still the 2 adolescents 10 years ago when we could first legally drink. In short we drank a lot. And till it was pretty late (early?) too.

Suffice to say, this morning we looked like extras from Night of the Living Dead or something. In this state, I seem to see my fingers moving across the keyboard like Eddie Van Halen across his fretboard and yet I am scarcely conscious of what I am typing. Looks like a rare early early night for me.