Mon-ey-ey-ey

Since the first time I heard it in my my brother's basement bedroom, I have absolutely adored the vocalist's solo in Pink Floyd's "Great Big Gig In The Sky." I also love the old geezer talking about how he's "not afraid of dying, any time will do -- why should I be afraid of it?" Then this scary pure yet somehow still rock as fuck voice kicks into pure ecstasy...

I'm not sure it would work with my classically trained voice, but then, I'm convinced Meat Loaf could have been an opera singer, so who knows? Really, the only souls who have heard it are my and my cats (my neighbour is deaf). No one has called the police yet, thinking it a domestic disturbance, but then I do live in __________________...

This morning I woke up, only barely because I only got about 3.5 hours of sleep. I took a sleeping pill at 10pm, then half an anti-anxiety med at midnight. 2:35 am was the last time I looked at the clock and then the next thing I knew, the local classic rock station reached deep into my dreams with one of the best guitar-and-cash-register solos ever recorded and it was 6:30. TIME TO GET UP. So I did, grudgingly. I did my best to cover the ravages of time with eye concealer and a cement trowel (later classmates would comment that the operation was NOT a success). Ran out the door. No food in the post-holiday house, so I stopped at a drive through. Got to school on time, a minor miracle, and low and wonder my parking pass wouldn't work. Scan, scan, beep, scan, beep, beep-beep, scan. Nothing. I pressed the "call for help" button. Ring, ring, ring, ring... beep! I got an answering machine. Really? An answering machine? There was a line up of cars (filled with tardy, angry undergrads) forming behind me and no way to turn around. My apologies and braced for hurled epiteths ("hey, aren't you in my section of intro to psyc? watch it buddy!) Eventually they wiggled back their daddies' cars enough for me to back out and look for a pay-as-you-go parking lot.

I paid $20 to park today at a school where I already OWN a fucking parking pass!

But that was okay, because I had my sausage-and-egg-a-muffin and Earl Grey tea. Oh, what's this? My Earl Grey tea is upside down in the back seat for some reason. I am not ashamed to say, Dear Reader, that I drank what was left in the cup, despite the lid having touched the floor on my car. I was THAT desperate for caffeine. I was late however, and did not have the gall to eat my (now cold) sausage sandwich in front of my two elderly-and-extremely-Jewish professors. But don't worry, I DID manage to spill the last of the Earl Grey on my brand-new (formerly) white sweater.

I met more minor disasters of the morning bravely. Like a young british soldier in 1917 who's been told that Field Marshal Haig wants to move his desk another 7 feet towards Berlin before tea time. I had suspected that my run of bad luck was mostly due to lack of sleep and mental unpreparedness to return to grad-skule life after too-little vacation. I hadn't seen my therapist since before my MIL died and breaking up with my own parents. There was a lot to talk about and surely all of this Cluseau-esque misfortune was the manifestation of not having had the chance to talk it all out with good-ol' Dr. Therapist. But I was so sleep deprived that by the time I got there, I was exhausted from making sure I didn't accidentally drive my car into a Boxing Week matress sale, I just didn't have any fight left in me. I started by talking about how tired I was and how my defenses were down. My bad day. My professors. The upcoming layoffs at the Org and how no one is doing their job --

And then he hits me with it. I'm not happy with our relationship, am I?