Ramblings of the 3am On-duty person

I have a weird job. Resident Director is an odd thing if you look at it from the framework of the pragmatic 9-5er type of view. But I have been doing it for a long time, and while not wholly convienient at times it makes sense. I am on call this week, which basically means I can get called about anything from a lock out to vomit all over a bathroom to sending someone to the hospital. Weekend nights of on call are never much for good sleep, especially towards the beginning of the semester because you never know what you are going to get. So, I cuddle up on my couch with my day clothes still on, protected by my blue & green afgan and try to catch some "duty-sleep" in front of a trusty movie. But tonight, the shallow sleep did not happen, my head is too full of things to let myself drift off. I think about the state of the nation, the state of my students, the book I am reading, how can I ever rock as hard as Jack Black, the start of my student loans, the state of my heart, how much I love Ruth Fisher from Six Feet Under, the Serenity movie and how much I just want that verse to never end, writing and the block that I sometimes need a jackhammer to get chip away at it, what I am going to do for Thanksgiving, who can I call at this hour who won't mind it too too much, the additions I want to make to the tatoo on my arm, the age of thirty, the age of twenty nine, the age I will be when I feel like an adult, how tiny Hannah is, kisses, actually missing the push to write to send a packet into my professor, how the moon looked last year in Deer Isle, how much I really want a Pumpkin Head ale, who can I trust in politics, voting No on 1 on November 8th, the state of marriage and how ludicrious it is that the religious conservatives can tell anyone who they spend the rest of their lives with, how sometimes I think I was a gay man in my past life, if I could perform magic what spells would I cast, how cool telekineis would be minus all the crazy Carrie pig's blood prank and massacre, the comic book convention in Boston next week, Homecoming, job searching, what the hell it would be like to live off campus, and many other things that just kind of add up like small bees in my head until I have a swarm buzzing around in this hive-mind. I need a bee keeper to come with their calm mask and slow smoky vapor to lull the bees to sleep, let me collect the sweet combs of sleep and drink the honey until I am rested and sleep drunk off the nectar. It makes me wish I was four again and I could count on someone tucking me in and rubbing my back and smoothing the hair back from my head to find the cool side of the pillow. Sleep is a weird mistress. Sometimes she will readily bed you and hold you in her soft arms, and other times she won't put out. Damn crazy bitch.