so you think you've got it sussed. you've made it to eleven at night without sleeping, you're as tired as a sloth with narcolepsy, and the cool sheets feel so good on your achy limbs. you crash into a deep slumber.
you wake. "finally sussed it," you think. there's probably a self-satisfied smirk on your face, but it's too dark to see. the hotel must have thick curtains, because surely the sun rose hours ago. you grope your way into the bathroom, switch the air con on and off a few times, call room service, and finally succeed in getting the light on. you examine your watch. 1:30 a.m. you shake your watch, but it is still going. ah, perhaps you left it on uk time. back in the dark room, you fumble around knocking glasses of water over to find your husband's watch. it too says 1:30. you've slept for all of two and a half hours.
you get back into bed and try to think of boring things like how you might make an extra bedroom in the house you saw the day before. ten minutes later you're crouched on the floor in the bathroom with pen and paper drawing plans.
this is silly. back to bed, lie still and think about something else. anything else. no, not what you've got to buy at frys, that will just end up with you back in the bathroom making lists. you breathe deeply and count up to a hundred in german. still awake. perhaps you'll read the interweb for ten minutes, and then try again.
it's three thirty. what happened there? was there really any urgent need to find molvanian food bloggers with a decent recipe for blini? let alone san franciscan dog parks with an off leash zone. god, you feel crap. you feel as if a large group of mexicans had been having a party in your head and they forgot to clean up afterwards.
now what's the time? four thirty. you shut the computer down and try again. ein, zwei, drei... hundert. it's not working. perhaps there was something to be said for counting sheep. what's german for sheep? google will know. DON'T START THE COMPUTER AGAIN. you'll end up looking up where to buy llama wool in haight ashbury*. just lie still and think sleepy thoughts. good, getting quite dozy. ah, you're drifting off now.
bugger. your husband has switched the light on and fired his computer up. may as well join him. the german for sheep is das schaf.
six thirty. not only have the mexicans not cleared up, now they've emptied the ash trays all over the floor and trod their contents into the carpet. six thirty. only thirty minutes to seven o'clock when mama's in washington square opens (thanks chris!). suddenly coffee and huevos rancheros seem like the most enticing things in the world. getting out of this room seems like the most enticing thing in the world.
if enid ever invents a religion, hell won't be burning pits or devils with pitchforks, it will be eternity spent in california with your body clock in london... in a small san francisco hotel room without a kettle.