Rodney Dangerfield:

When the alarm rang I hit snooze, and the snooze bar came off.  I went into the bathroom,  the door knob came off in my hand.  I was afraid to pee.

It will sound petty and peevish, I know, but I haven’t been sleeping enough the last few weeks.  I’m down about 2 hours every night, it seems.   I was asked to sleep over in SoHo and take care of my sweetheart’s cat while she was away overnight.  I was to stay over and make sure the Baron had his accustomed dinner service, his midnight snack and his continental breakfast.

They are renovating the apartment above.  It worked out better than any alarm clock could, for the cat, because it was impossible to stay in bed directly under the hammer blows, drilling and other banging that commenced three hours before my alarm was set for.  The cat was happy, he had his late breakfast a few hours earlier than he otherwise would have had I not had such a persistent and energetic alarm clock pound me awake.

I’m not complaining, mind you.  I am complaining, let me face that sad fact.  Of course, as my father was wont to point out, I’d complain if I was hanged with a new rope.  All I need is a couple more cups of coffee and I’ll be fine.  Fine, I say.   Whoops, the drilling has moved to over my position here at the computador.  Excuse me, please, I’ve got to get out into the street for some peace and quiet.