And now, for something completely different...

Monty Python, anyone?

I fucking hate my job.

I want to tell you a story that has nothing to do with either of the first 2 lines.
I was reading Harley Writer's blog a moment ago and it reminded me of a glaring aspect of Samantha. I am reaeaeaeaelllllyyyy narcoleptic. Not funny, Deuce Bigelow bowling bullshit, rather swerving across the New Jersey Turnpike, "Holy Fuck" narcoleptic. I haven't been
" "diagnosed" " (rock quotes-Dane Cook), but believe me scouts, I'm fucking narcoleptic.

Top Ten

10. Sitting at a red light with both feet on the brake
9. Sitting at said red light and rear-ending an ugly Hummer
8. During mediocre sex a long time ago
7. On the listening end of a conversation
6. Standing up during a class
5. On the speaking end of a conversation
4. While eating
3. During many movies
2. Leaning against a wall
--------------------------

And the number 1 is

Crossing a street.

So I try to sleep according to my body's needs, but that varies from 3 to 10 hours any given night. Good times. Did you know Methylphenidate (Ritalin!) is a treatment for freaks who fall asleep? Did you also know it turns you into Lizzy Borden? None of that shit, thank you very much. One fucking genius physician told me to "drink more coffee". No fuckin-shit chief. I can tell you a dozen different locations in the Tri-State Area where I've slept in my car. I've had at least three people knock on my window and proceed to tell me they had wonderd if I was dead. Ah the eternal optimist. "Tap on the window. Look at her mouth hanging open. I think she's been murdered." Apparently, shithead, you didn't see the drool.