John and I have a saying, “Friends don’t let friends drog blunk.” I’m currently neither drunk nor blunk, although either sounds better than insomniac right about now.

So I’ve tried the usual remedies (friendly, familiar book, hot bath, etc.) and am no sleepier than I was two hours ago, although I am decidedly more tired. So I’ve been wandering the Internet Highway because, while friends apprently won’t let you type under the influence, they will not keep you company in the wee hours. Such is marriage.

Started at CBC, read about how most of Canada is getting a warm January, that there was a body found outside Vancouver’s City Hall, and blithely skipped reading anything about Picton at all. The plan is to eventually get to sleep, after all. I may have been pushing it with the Vancouver story. Checked out the week in photos.

Jumped back to Flickr, bounced around there for a while, saw some cool photos, and wandered back to my blog. Ran through the blogroll, read new entries from a bunch of people. Replied to comments on my blog. Did some housekeeping.

Started wandering around from blog to blog and somehow found myself stepping from the anecdotal tales of Bacon and Ehs to the ramblings of Moderately Spicy. Number eight was so funny (and apt). Couldn’t laugh for fear of waking John…. almost hurt myself.

Theoretically, I could actually go upstairs and do work, but the problem is that I know I’m tired enough that I would screw something up and end the whole thing by being tired and pissed and awake. Eliminating the bad mood is a definite plus.

I’d try starting that sweater I’m going to knit Katherine, but that will involve rooting in the freezing cold basement storage for the appropriate knitting needles, something I’m sure would not only cause frostbite, but might also wake up dogs, kids, husbands or anything else that might be alive in here. It’d certainly wake up ME, and that’s not what we’re about.

Incidentally, as regards the sweater, I should actually get started on that soon. Katherine seems to have her heart set on a new one. She picked out the wool (Briggs and Little heather light blue) from my stash, grabbed a pair of needles and was found, in tears, on the floor of my studio. When asked what was wrong, she claimed that, “I was frustrated becuase I was going to do the wool and knit the sweater and I can’t.” Poor mite. We set her up with a hammer, nails and a block of wood and she was vastly releaved at being able to DO something within the abilities of an almost three-year-old. But I really should get going on that sweater.

Think I’ll toodle off now and try reading again. I suspect that Cadfael could handle my company for a spell longer….