There’s really no rhyme or reason to the way problems come to me at night, when I’m trying to drown out the world and get some sleep. The ramifications of one issue and the subcategories of another all get entangled, bumping and grinding into each other like some sort of fucked-up problem orgy, robbing me of precious hours of rest. And because they all come to me at once and so wildly disorganized, there’s no way to make sense of it– no reaching resolutions, no resolving conflicts, no sudden nighttime epiphanies. There’s no way to work things out because it’s a veritable pandemonium of setbacks and quandaries, an amorphous mass of cacophonous exasperation. And so all you can do is get up and try to distract yourself by reading a book or, more often than that, browsing the internet like a fucking entertainment-starved zombie. Sometimes I’ll eat a bowl of cereal, listlessly.
The last week or so has consisted almost entirely of nights like this, which has left me a crabby shell of a man. It was the last-minute organization of a rather impromptu trip to New York City for work, as well as about a dozen other Argentinean-immigration-related issues that just magically happened to reach their climax at the same time like skilled lovers. I’ve been caught in a bureaucratic mess of an existence for the better part of a month now and life has crawled to a halt while I try to get the right pieces moving in the exact right configuration and rhythm so I can be where I need to be. And Murphy’s Law comes into full effect, ensuring that everything that could possibly fuck up did in fact fuck up (which is I suppose a more succinct paraphrasing of the Law). For a moment there it looked like everything was seriously going to shit, and just before I complete my descent down the pit of total despondency, the support of friends arrives like a gust of wind propelling me back to calm. Some people are just treasures.