So I get home at 1:30AM. Ok, that's kind of late, but I figure, it's all good, I can still get a good 5 hours sleep. I lie down on the couch, watching Gilligan's Island back in the b/w days... *BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG* on the front door, at 2AM. Now, there's only one person that would show up at my front door at 2AM. But I answered it anyway. "Hello, Damian, what are you doing?" Damian says, "Driving drunk!" Now, the guy has a wife (who he was at my house avoiding the wrath of) and a 19 month old son, so I couldn't just send his drunk ass back home. He'd end up getting killed and I'd feel guilty forever. Damian proceeds to spend the next 3 HOURS telling me about his acid trips two years ago...about how he thought he was under water...about the time he ran into the open field and saw some guy, (whom he later hypothesized he hallucinated) gave him a cigarette, and took lessons on how to drive the bulldozer parked in the field...etcetera....etcetera...etcetera... He finally did leave, only to return 5 minutes later asking to borrow kitty litter...now, I know these things are my fault... Then I had to get up EXTRA early, to drive Angie to work...and I'm supposed to have a telephone job interview today at 5...if I'm still awake by then I guess... Oh, and I have to do the reports now.