This must be the upswing. How else could I finally make it back to the office on Tuesday, at least in a limited and assisted way? Friend Broady takes me downtown mid-afternoon (just my third venture outdoors since Friday the 13th). Monica gets me back mid-evening.
And how else could I hang in there longer than expected, fueled by only one nap for the day? Twelve days worth of backlogged e-mail, two Reporter's Notebook columns to assemble, I spend five hours digging myself out of a hole.
Complicating excavations is the balky Buffalo News computer system. My ancient Windows XP machine has barely gotten humming when it locks up and needs a reboot. And then it locks up again and needs another reboot. Meanwhile, the editors are waiting for Wednesday's column.
Then, later, with Monica idling at the snowy Scott Street curb downstairs, it locks up again when I try to send Friday's column to the editors. Second-richest man in America, our beloved owner, Warren Buffett, and he can't give us decent tools to work with. I seethe all the way home.
Monday, I couldn't have done all that. That's a two-nap day, enhanced with my sleep apnea machine. The sinus infection obliged me to abandon it recently because I couldn't breathe, but now, with sinuses improved (but not cured), I give it another try and immediately see the difference. Not in duration of sleep, but in depth. The dreams! One involves flaming architectural elements of Victorian houses flying wildly through the air. I wonder if my subconscious has a special effects budget big enough to keep doing this.
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