But even that could have been overcome, if someone on my street hadn't decided to go out at midnight and turn on their car radio to KDCK, Loud and Thumpy FM. And then, like, IDK, chill in their driveway with a Michelob or something. What are you gonna do, it's Kansas. So I'm lying in bed, doing that stubborn thing where you yell at your own brain in a stentorian Satan voice. "GO TO SLEEP. JUST IGNORE IT AND GO TO SLEEP. YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP AT AN EARLY GROWN-UP TIME FOR WORK. SLEEEEEEP!"
After about half an hour of this, I decide to investigate. I tiptoe down to the front door and look through the peephole. The porch light is off, so I basically see nothing at all. My thought process goes like this: I can turn on the light, but all I'm doing is heralding my presence to anyone outside. I can continue to stand here and look through a peephole into blackness. If I turn on the light, though, the monsters will know I'm here. But I can't see shit.
I decide to flip on the light, there are no monsters on my front step, so I open the door and listen, which means that I stare really hard into the night with a stupid look on my face. At this precise moment, there is no thumpy. I listen and listen, and I imagine whoever it is to be sitting in their car - or, more likely, crouched behind it, probably nefariously - taking a swig of Michelob, laughing and laughing, maybe pointing a little. I lock back up and toddle off to bed. A few seconds of triumph. I showed them! I turned on my porch light for 1.7 seconds! They know I mean business.
Five minutes later, the thumpy has returned. I just laid there and dealt with it, and eventually must have fallen asleep, though I do not remember it. I only remember waking up with an audible "FNNNNNFFAAAAFFFRRR" and groping my way out of bed and running into shit as I walked down the hallway. A glance in the mirror confirmed that yes, I will look like Momma from Throw Momma From the Train all day. My hair is doing....something, my face is sort of pallid and eye-baggy and fuzzy and hazzled (I made that word up just now, it sounds right), and I'm definitely like eighteen inches shorter. I'm sitting on the computer, peering at the monitor with squinched-up eyes because the thought of putting my contacts in is horrifying, I need to start getting ready now but I'm too tired to put on clothes, the thought of breakfast is making me urg, and a dog is requesting me to please provide him with sustenance, ma'am, oh please, am I not the best dog, do I not guard your every footfall, and I am now realizing that when I ran into aforementioned shit while wobbling down the hallway at top speed, I stubbed my toe and broke the absolute fuckery out of my nail.
Yes. An asspicious start.