In summer, the sun doesn’t fully set in Seattle until around 10pm. Usually a little later, which means that when I go to bed at night (you know, in order to wake up at 4:30am), it’s still light out and the 8-year-old Me who lives in my brain is screaming “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, THE STREETLIGHTS AREN’T EVEN ON YET!” It’s doubly weird when I wake up and the sun is already out, but I guess this makes up for the winter when it gets dark around 3:30 in the afternoon and we don’t see the sun for weeks.
It’s sunny and beautiful out today, although I won’t get to enjoy it because I’ve got to be in bed early. How early? Depends, but if I’m tired enough to take a nap at 7pm, I’ll totally do it. And when I say “nap,” I mean “sleep until around 11pm, at which point wake up and realize there’s no point in getting out of bed now so just go back to sleep, it’s fine.”
I have to be in bed early because I stayed out late last night (I saw the French Letters perform at Chop Suey and had a song called “Piss Throne” dedicated to me, which is way cooler than it sounds and I didn’t even deserve it because there were suburban accountants there who were partying way harder than I was) and have to be up early tomorrow. Which isn’t so bad, but I won’t get to take a nap tomorrow after work. Because I’m going with Mike to see Paul McCartney.
I’M GOING TO SEE PAUL MCCARTNEY.
Look, I know Paul wasn’t the best Beatle (ahem, that would be George Harrison), and I dislike Wings just as much as the rest of you. But it’s PAUL FUCKING MCCARTNEY, and this is a bucket list show, and Mike is just taking me with him because he felt like being nice to me, and I don’t give a shit how much sleep I miss or that I won’t be able to see Jesse and the Rippers perform on Fallon tomorrow night (!!!) I GET TO SEE PAUL MCCARTNEY.