Late night rambles.

It's 2:30 a.m. in Casa de la Prego. The world is asleep. The dog is asleep. A is asleep. I am perched on the nursery floor with my laptop, playing the Cardigans. Not asleep. Baby E is asleep in her little vibrating chair, which is vibrating loudly... and we're in here because I know as soon as I move her from said vibrating chair she will wake up, wail, and it will be another hour and a half before I get her close to sleep. It crossed my mind a while back to move the vibrating chair into our bedroom and set up camp in there, but I know when I turn it off to move it, and incidentally, her, she will wake up. And we've discussed where that will leave us.

And so I'm camped in the dark, praying for any one of my late night IM buddies (since that is the closest interaction I've had with my friends in over two months) to get online and humor me til I fall asleep on the floor, next to the vibrating chair.

I'm really glad I decided to carpet the nursery (previous hardwood, like the rest of the house) at the last minute.

Did I mention I have a job interview at 8:30 in the morning? Because I do. It's a good thing I don't particularly care if I get the job or not, because I have the sneakingly cynical feeling that tonight's going to be another one of those nights -- rare as they are, but still occurring -- where if I'm lucky, I might possibly get enough sleep to function tomorrow. Maybe, but probably not.

There's something strangely comforting about going into a job interview when you don't really care if you get it or not. It's like going on a date with a guy you don't particularly like, or dislike, but hey, it's a free meal, you get to get any flirtation you might have out of your system, and maybe you'll get laid. But it's okay if it doesn't turn into a relationship, because it's not really anything you're necessarily looking for anyway. Especially when you're running on two hours of sleep.

The gods are punishing me for bragging about our eight hour sleep night, aren't they?