Wake up after ~6 hours of sleep with a bladder that feels the size of a fitness ball. Try to ignore it, fail utterly. Go to the bathroom, attempt to go back to sleep, fail utterly a second time. That's right kids, I fail more before 9am than most people do all day. Eat cereal while watching NFLAM on the NFL Network. Giggle each time they call Eric Davis "E.D." and hope they've nicknamed his wife, assuming he has one, "Blue Bomber". Get dressed, consider studying, reject it on the grounds of not yet being awake. Consider drinking coffee, reject it as well based on how it seldom actually wakes me up and that I don't feel like spending the next 6 hours running to the bathroom every 20 minutes. Play some Freecell and listen to music instead for the next 10 minutes. Set up study area. Stare at study area. Pace around the apartment mulling over a massive social issue. Solve social issue. Stare at study area again.
Concede defeat, begin studying. Get mad at author for spending multiple pages on a topic then mentioning, at the end of the section, that this technology is no longer used, nor is it on the test. Pace around the apartment again, resume studying. Become angry with the test wanting to me know things I simply won't do, like monitor repair, given that I don't feel like electrocuting myself. Pace more, consider having lunch. Look in the fridge, conclude that I'm not certain when any of the leftovers were put in there but decide that it wasn't this week. Consider having a sandwich, then notice we're out of bread. Weep quietly in a corner.
Repeat earlier studying practices of actually studying, becoming angry, pacing, and studying some more. Recall father-in-law's admonition that having this certification won't get me anywhere. Hope wife gets home soon before the allure of the train tracks becomes overwhelming. Steph gets home, greet her at the door like an over-enthusiastic puppy. Try not to read too much into it when she says, "Hi honey," with a look that all too clearly tells me she's wondering if my cheese has finally slipped off my cracker. Listen to stories about Steph's day, offer her the use of my weeping corner. Impatiently wait for her to finish using the weeping corner. Have dinner while watching a funny show. We recently finished with all 9 seasons of "Scrubs" and have moved on to "The Big Bang Theory". Feel better about our lives based on how tough television nerds have it too.
Steph goes off to grade papers, write lesson plans, and do whatever it is people do on Pinterest. I go back to studying, with frequent pacing breaks, only now I can rant to Steph about how angry the test/book/author make me and no longer need to use my weeping corner. See Steph off to bed, listening to her guilt inspiring laments as I remain awake. Answer Dad's nightly call. Discuss football, politics, football, current events, football, and sometimes relationships. I try to keep the relationship talk to a minimum, as getting relationship advice from my dad is bit like getting advice on produce from Gallagher. Sure, they have a wealth of experience, but I'm really not a fan of the approach. My parents' marriage is a bit like the sun, we all know it could explode any moment, but it seems like it will just continue giving us cancer for the time being.
Check the apartment for intruders as the house creaks in the night silence. Become increasingly paranoid. Head to bed. This is the cat's cue to hop off the bed and go grab some food. Start falling asleep. This is the cat's cue to hop in the litter box, which is lined with silicate litter instead of traditional sand stuff, and sounds like a foot-shuffler walking through loose gravel when she uses it. Try to ignore it. Fail. Listen as the cat spends the next few minutes attempting to remove the crystals from her paws by rubbing them on any available surface with preference given to those that are loud. Fall asleep, looking forward to doing it all again the next day.
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