Disclaimer

My close associates know that, despite my forays into early rising, I am, at heart, a late riser. I don’t feel guilty about this (mostly), as it’s complemented on the flip side by a tendency to go to bed quite late. I think the root causes are related to years of forced early rising at the hands of public schools (with a dose of “brother Stephen practices Suzuki cello at 6:30 a.m. every morning,” which is enough to turn anyone off the wee hours). Plus, something in my DNA.

And thus comes the delicate balance between wake time and bed time — how late can I work and still get up at a reasonable hour? Or how late can I sleep in, and still get in a day’s work, and still participate in the life of my family?

This delicate balance situation is made worse by my total lack of accuracy at estimating anything to do with time. I’m either chronically late, or chronically early, depending on the season, the event, and the wake/sleep epoch.

Which is all a very long preamble to an important disclaimer: I got up too early today. Or rather I went to bed too late last night. Or, actually both.

The result of this folly was that I have very little recall of what happened between the hours of 7:30 a.m. and Noon.

I know I visited Elections PEI, bought a copy of The Guardian, checked my email, taped an interview with Matt Rainnie for Mainstreet, pimped for Nils Ling, and ate lunch. I also visited silverorange (where a Keystone Cops like faxing exercise deserves a whole post of its own), consulted Ann, my spelling oracle, and operated a motor vehicle several times. And talked to brother Johnny on the phone from Vancouver. And visited Kwik Kopy (only in a daze would I patronize someplace with such callous disregard for the letter K).

If you were an actor in any of these dramas, and if I appeared out of sorts, or unintelligible, I apologize. If I insulted you, or offered to pay you a million dollars, or gave you the root password to my Linux server, well, I’m sorry for that too (and I take it back). And if I appeared to be a rabid fan of Nils Ling, well, let’s just leave that one alone.

I need a nap. Again.