3:36AM

I just finished a documentary called "Who the #$&% is Jackson Pollock?" about this kooky, old, female truck driver who bought what she now believes is an original Jackson Pollock in a flea market for five dollars. In trying to prove its authenticity, she first contacts experts of the art world, who all immediately dismiss it as a phony. Refusing to be told she is wrong, the woman then hires a forensic scientist specializing in verifying works of art, who finds fingerprints on her painting which match fingerprints from Pollock's studio. Watching aesthetics battle logic is a bit exhausting, but the little Hungarian scientist is mesmerizing. I think I would listen to him speak about anything.
I only slept three hours last night (and by "last night", I mean "today from 11 AM to 2 PM"), and I have to clean the whole apartment tomorrow, so I'm shooting for a 4 AM bedtime. Whether that is realistic remains to be seen.
I'm going to be a wreck when our Netflix trial runs out.
Going back to work next week sounds dreadful. I'm a paralegal contractor at my dad's law firm, which is not nearly as exciting or high-paying as the amount of syllables in the title suggests. Essentially, my job consists exclusively of summarizing depositions for trials. It's pretty mind-numbing paperwork, but it pays a lot better than the jobs I've had in summers past.
The mouse living in our kitchen makes so much noise when he gets stuck in the trash can (which happens more frequently than you'd think) that I've found myself keeping a frying pan in the living room, creeping into the kitchen silently, frying pan at hand, to swat the invisible home invaders.