I think I eventually fell asleep around 4 am.
I then awoke an hour before my grocery delivery slot, turning off my alarm, which was set for half an hour later, as I did.
I then awoke once again an hour after my delivery slot.
Sigh.
Well, nobody tried to call my phone, even though the supermarket said they had. The “persistent knocking” was clearly not loud enough to wake me, which is odd, as I’m not a particularly heavy sleeper. Part of me wonders whether they just got the wrong building or something. That happens a lot around here. Or, just maybe, whatever it is that’s been getting me down lately is what made me sleep through the delivery. I feel such a fool, but I guess these things do happen. The driver will apparently try to redeliver sometime this afternoon, but I know neither when nor, erm, well, that’s kind of it. So I thought I’d type this as I wait, to placate my guilty conscience.
I’m also watching Isle of Dogs, part of my impromptu Wes Anderson season. His films form part of my “happy place”, that I go to when I’m extra depressed. I’ve also included into my happy place the lectures on ancient Egypt, the act of listening to which I now refer to as “a Bob Brier hug”. I don’t know why, but he just calms me down. I also just noticed that Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch is now available to stream, so I’m tempted to watch it this afternoon, rather than wait any longer for the physical release. Perhaps I should just rent it. The film’s theatrical release was delayed interminably due to the pandemic, so I’m very keen to finally experience it.
Funnily enough, my neighbour “slept” through someone knocking on his door as well. I opened mine and inquired who the person knocking was after, just in case it was my delivery, but it was definitely for my neighbour. A while later, once I’d heard my neighbour return from one of his fifty trips in-and-out the building an hour, I knocked on his door and informed him that he’d missed the knocking. He said he’d done it on purpose, as he was avoiding the council repair people. Who knows why. My neighbour is cute, in a “rough trade” kind of way. I have elaborate sexual fantasies about him, which I guess is pretty sad. Or normal. I can’t tell anymore.
I didn’t end up recording any music last night, opting instead for staying in bed listening to my history lectures. I keep making notes of interesting phrases I hear as potential titles for instrumental tracks. Maybe some day I’ll actually get around to recording one of them.
Nobody else has been in touch today, but that’s no surprise. Is there something going on that I don’t know about? I fear soon I will utter the two saddest words in the English language:
“What party?!”
Anyway, I best go finish Isle of Dogs, so I’m not wasting electricity on keeping it paused.
Do stay in touch, darlings.
Toodles!
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