This morning, at 7:45 sharp, my neighbor loaded his shotgun and went to work.

We met on the stairs and exchanged pleasantries, I complimented his 12-gauge pump-action and wished him a good day. He smiled and climbed into his expensive Jeepeta-del-año, his shotgun riding shotgun. Watchman he ain’t.

Only in the DR.

Is it just me?

It seems that lately I’ve been watching more French movies than usual. I watch stuff all the time, but usually it is a fair amount of British TV shows (Red Dwarf, Doctor Who, etc) and classic Hollywood noir movies (The Big Sleep, How To Marry A Millionaire, Only Angels Have Wings, His Girl Friday, etc) of which most seem to feature Cary Grant (?!).

However, I’ve caught myself going French. Today it was Asterix Aux Jeux Olympiques and last week Iznogoud: Calife A La Place Du Calife and before that Kaena La Profetice. It’s not just that they are made in France, but I get them in the original French, meaning it limits the people I can enjoy them with. I guess it has to do with the fact that I know quite well the actors and storylines, or that many of the movies I see are based on stories by the writer Goscinny. Or maybe it’s just because the French actresses are unusually…eh…..

Or because of the different takes on stories. I mean they made Iznogoud into a Bollywood-style musical. I didn’t see that one coming. And I’ve been reading that character since I can remember.

Well, as it were I will fill my need of Gerard Depardieu by getting the original French version of Cyrano de Bergerac. As if I hadn’t had enough of him with Asterix. I may go for some Alan Delon after that. He did a killer Julius Cesar in Asterix.

You just can’t tell.

It is 2 am.

I’m sitting in front of my work station in a dark room.

Again.

I’m wearing dark sunglasses so the glare of the screens wont hinder my melatonin secretion. Or so I hope. I read that somewhere.

I can’t sleep. I’m tired, yet awake. It’s called DSPS, Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome. I call it a permanent jet-lag and several other names not fit for print. Had it since childhood. I can’t fall asleep and when I finally do, I can’t wake up, at least not at socially acceptable hours. I slept through two earthquakes, one hurricane and that doozie called 9/11 on the very same day I was supposed to be at the WTC, I kid you not. A friend called from Canada to tear me out of my sleep and drag me to the window to see the smoke rise from the buildings in the distance.

But sometimes I have an epiphany. Like today… er… tonight. Then I jump out of bed and do what I can before the inspiration is gone.

And the diphenhydramine kicks in.