The otherworldliness of sleep deprivation

Where am I? What time is it? Well might I ask. I know one thing – I’m into the fourth day after the election and I have yet to sleep more than two hours each of the nights. I’ve jotted some notes from when Friday turned into Saturday and I didn’t even notice:

Friday: one hour late for a dinner party (they were on dessert already when I arrived! Hey, these were ravenously starving individuals if you think about it, but still, how rude is that on my part – ONE HOUR LATE!); an hour and a half late for the Torts section party (I’ve lost all awareness of time passing); one broken glass at said party (thank you for pretending it was just some cheap piece of junk you picked up at Sears; I know darn well the Sears does not sell delicate, long-stemmed, tinted-blue wine glasses, but it was nice of you to try to make me feel better); a late start at L’Etoile this morning (when I dragged myself in at 7, the Market was robust, the Café was already opened and Chef O had called twice leaving messages for me); and a late finish at L’Etoile. [More than six hours of picking and lugging vegetables in slo-mo; SIX HOURS! How did I survive? With the help of this:]