Sleep is evading me. Again. I don't really have anything interesting on my mind, and I've been vigilant in the 'sleep hygiene' regimen I was given awhile ago (by some idiot doctor). Nice comfy bed. The dogs are calm (mostly). And still no deal. Sleep and I may have to come to an uneasy agreement in that I know it's supposed to come through and it tells me to get lost.

This morning I head upstairs and come face to face with a hottie cable guy that is fiddling with the wires to get a clearer picture. My stepdad is perched anxiously on the couch, waiting for the verdict. I just sigh and look pointedly at the new satellite receiver. The satellite was installed last Monday (to my great joy) and there he was, worried about the cable (that we all agreed would be disconnected as it has no real channels, very fuzzy reception NO MATTER WHAT, and the cost is what we pay for satellite programming now). But I suppose old people are reluctant to let go of familiar fuzzy channels that are: a) in french (no one in the house speaks french), b) mostly entertainment channels (no one really cares about what weird thing Tom Cruise is up to now) and c) just plain LAME.

Now I can guess what you are thinking; why the big deal about television? Well, let me tell you. When you are surrounded by nothing but trees and 4 feet of snow (which will grow to 6 or 7 by February), then television becomes somewhat interesting. Especially as you've read every book in the house approximately 7 times each, and the nearest city is 200 kilometres away. So, forgive me if I worship at the alter that is satellite television for a little while.

In any event, the hottie cable guy talks to me and stoops down (about 6 feet of him, I would say) and pets Buckley (picture a fierce sneer on his face) but I'm not buying this in-house pickup. I tell him I would spend more time talking him up but I need to either renew my subscription with eHarmony or hope for the day John Cusack realises there is a northern girl in Canada (not Neve Cambell) who would probably be more than happy to go for vietnamese food with him (me, of course) then I go back downstairs (after grabbing another can of pepsi).

John Cusack, John Cusack, John Cusack, ok? I know I've mentioned him a few times in this space but who cares? Blogs are full of crap all of the time, so any readers who are miffed with the Cusack references can either stop reading or stop emailing me regarding the subject. Cusack! So there.

Ok, I'd better go.
Before anyone else gets hurt.

Labels: cable, insomnia, John Cusack