such a cliche Monday

1. I could not sleep last night - I think I finally dozed off around 5:30.

2. There is water coming up from the floor in the basement, i.e.- my living room. It's a problem, and I'm grateful someone is fixing it, yet it makes it impossible to sleep.

3. Upon going to someone else's bedroom to sleep, I keep getting phone calls that I can't ignore.

4. Finally giving up on more sleep, I work on registering my company-imposed, new-and-improved health insurance information on it's new-and-improved customer service site. It asked me to enter the verification code to prevent automated regitrations. The numbers that appeared were 0456. I entered 0456. It told me I entered the incorrect code. It again told me to enter 0456. I again entered 0456. It told me I entered the incorrect code. It again told me to enter 0456, and I again entered 0456. It told me I entered the incorrect code. I logged off. I logged back on. It told me to enter 0456. I entered 0456. It told me I entered the incorrect code. Something in this process is really stupid, and, judging from my lack of sleep, I realize that the stupid one could be me, BUT I REALLY DON'T THINK SO.

5. Walk-through registration is today. I'm kind of expecting I will have been listed as an illegal alien over night and that they will deny me my student loan because of it - which will push me over the edge, but that will probably be okay, because tears are always an effective tactic. I'll probably still be deported, but they'll feel really bad about it as they do it. That's all I ask.

On all-nighers, weddings, and buckets of roses

I haven't pulled an all-nighter since fall of 2001. It was the week before finals, I think I had three papers and one project due, and I got a total of one hour of sleep in 72 hours. I swore never again. No more still typing while the sky turned gray with the ROTC shouting in unison as they ran past my window. No more staying up until I heard the alarm clocks of my house mates ring and chime. I decided that knowing the vast difference between a true all-nighter and getting one hour of sleep was nothing about which to boast. I've stuck to my oath pretty well. Once I started teaching, all-nighters were no longer an option. I thought I was tired in college; I had no idea what tired really was. Tired is not being able to move or think or speak in complete sentences after 8:30 at night and forcing yourself to get up after eight hours of sleep. Tired is midnight after a week of teaching, encouraging, managing, disciplining, persuading, and defending literally hundreds of teenagers - some of them, during the weeks leading up to a drama performance, wielding paint rollers on a prized gym floor, power tools, and hammers and nails on ladders. That is tired. All-nighters are no longer an option - you can't do all of that with no sleep, and after all of that your body will make you sleep, no matter how much you resist it.

All of this is just to say that I pulled an all-nighter last night, and I once again remember the icky (technical term) kind of exhaustion that it produces. It's weariness with no satisfaction. It's a feeling of, I am so stupid that I had to do that. Yet, this time, it was for a good cause. I staying up with a friend who was arranging all of the flowers, including bouquets, corsages, and boutonnieres, for a friend's wedding; and she had called me last night from the student center, surrounded by long stem roses in buckets, tired, and in desperate need for company to keep her encouraged and awake. When I got there, the bachelor party was still going on across the parking lot (we know this because one of the ushers stopped by in search for food). The bride was probably getting ready for bed, excited and stressed, perhaps filled with wonder at the blessing of her groom, perhaps just so burdened with details that the fact of her wedding was not even real to her. My friend and I worked on the flowers through the night, and by the time we were done, the bride was already awake and getting ready for her day. In the course of eight hours, we went from the day before the wedding to the day of, a difference that seems profound to me even though it is in reality only a matter of hours. I don't know how the bride, groom, or anyone else was feeling, but it left me feeling a bit in wonder. I barely even know the couple - I just am the friend of the friend who is doing the flowers - but, in the time it took me to snap off thorns, pluck petals, and cut ribbon, the most anticipated day of one woman's life arrived - and I got to keep watch while it came.

I just want to say...

People who loiter on the rails of skating rinks, obstructing such rails from unsteady skaters a fall and a toe pick away from permanent facial deformation or death, are punks.