(Sings) A Compromise with Charlie Helped the Situation...

So, the selection of programs on TV is so dire that I'm watching a 4-week old tape of 'Temptation' and not even bothering to fast forward the ads.

My God, I hate 'Survivor'.

I'm making a star for the top of the Christmas tree. (All I need is a prison sentence and, yes, Lauren, my Martha Stewart transformation will be deemed a success. It's sickening. (At least I don't make my own fruit mince or anything.)

This is last night. The problem is, of course, that it's very late, and before long I need to be up and coherent and busily achieving all those kinds of things that modern people insist on burdening themselves with.

Ergo, Night Brain is talking to Morning Brain.

I'm going to finish this point before I go to bed. It'll only take a minute.

Ha! Do you realise how late it's getting? You're supposed to be up again in six hours. You know how bloody cranky you are in the morning when you haven't had enough sleep. Besides, finishing that bit will take you at least 45 minutes and you know it. GO TO BED NOW. By the way, you've got your elbow in the glue.

There's plenty of time. It won't take me long to get ready in the morning.

It wouldn't if you were organised, no, but you're forgetting you haven't done any washing for two weeks, so you'll spend at least half an hour rummaging through the ironing basket to find something that bends, and you knocked all your earrings down the back of your bed this morning and you haven't bothered to fetch them out again, and do you really have any idea where you put down your mobile when you came in? It'll take you another 20 minutes to find that, because I know for a fact it's on the floor of the car and you won't think to look for it until you've given up and huffed out the door in a snit.

In fact, I think I'll have a coffee. It doesn't really affect me, you know,
not since I was at university.

Oh, for the love of God...

And so it goes. I'm a night fish, and I have absolutely no problem with living in denial until the following morning, when, after three hours in the sack, Morning Brain kicks in, seriously pissed off, and reminds me what a yutz
I am for always believing I'll get away with it. I'm not 19 anymore.
I can't do all-nighters of any kind.

Beleagured though it might be, however, Morning Brain is occasionally possessed with extreme cunning and gets its own back. I came home after a late shift tonight ready to fall face-first into bed - and what did I see?
No sheets, of course. I washed the old set this morning, and when I came to remake the bed with a fresh set, I thought, "It's OK. I'll do it when I get home. It'll only take a sec."

Ha ha! SUCKER!