It was the first work day of our new living arrangement. I slept on the couch, better to not hear M & J (as in, I don�t even want to hear talking, snoring, or turning over, and there is no insulation in these old interior walls�oh, and they�ve taken the bedroom right next to mine, not even across the hall). Of course, they�re annoyingly peppy, chatty morning people, so I still awoke to the sound of the phone ringing at 5:45 and M having some long conversation with her mom.

I am not a morning person. My version of morning requires loud music on the stereo, loud enough to hear in the shower. Maybe a little conversation with the cat, maybe, if I�m astonishingly well rested, a little singing to the music. The routine is not conducive to the present environment, where even when having a quiet little pee, I wonder if they can hear me like I can hear them.

Sigh.

So yes, the kids moved in on Saturday. Great news for someone who barely managed to drag her sorry self in at 4 am. When M�s mom called at 8 am, I didn�t attempt to rise, so she, assuming I wasn�t home, came on over to loot the fridge of all eggs. I looked like hell and felt worse when I stumbled up to check on her. Was probably still drunk. Soon thereafter, the great move began. I tried to sleep. It was loud.

My waking moments were filled with buyer�s remorse, but one can scarcely return the alcohol by then. I do not regret purchasing Jack Ingram�s new CD, nor standing in line to talk to him and have him sign it, but I�ll be damned if I know what I said to him. Probably spouted off about that dreadful rock star hair he had last trip through town. Loose lips sink ships and all. It was a lovely show. There was a set, made to transform the stage into a motel room. Oh, oh, and the PA was dreadful. A horrible, constant crackle that they couldn�t fix, but Jack didn�t seem bothered in the least. He said such lovely things about The Whip, though he didn�t make it out to the radio station.

Sigh. It just seems maybe I should be old enough to not make an ass of myself all over town. I�m tired of having to call someone the next day to attempt to ascertain what bizarre or offensive things I need to atone for. I�m told it was probably okay, but the friend whose pals we were hanging with left long before I did. I guess we�ll only know for sure next month, when I believe we wrangled an invitation for a gang of us to stay with a guy in Chicago for the great birthday celebration.

But now after a meeting by the coffee pot, it seems likely that I behaved reasonably well, aside from some sad piano playing. However, I gotta go ring Reb�I think I abandoned her at the bar. Maybe she�s still there.

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So, is this heightened terror alert supposed to distract us from the knowledge that our government is waging war?