I want to wake up in the city that doesn't sleep

I don't know about the rest of the city, but the last few weeks, Colleen the New Yorker doesn't sleep so well.

The first week of my job, which was also the first week John was gone and I was here by myself, I slept terribly every night. Probably nerves mixed with strange noises, compounded by not feeling 100 percent secure about living here by myself. I'd have trouble falling asleep, wake up every hour or two, then wake up way before the alarm. Only by the twin blessings of Starbucks and nervous energy did I survive.

Then I started to settle in at work, and the apartment search seemed less uncertain (though certainly not without its frustrations) and I began to sleep a little.

This week is off to a lousy start.

Last night I had just fallen asleep when my work cell phone rang. Twice. The first one I almost slept thru, but then the second came, and I spent the next half hour doing a reverse lookup on the number, trying to call it back ... basically I was awake and I wanted to find out if someone was actually calling me on a number I don't even know or if it was a mistake.

Tonight I smugly turned off the Treo before bed, only to have my personal cell phone ring about 12:30, jolting me from a sound sleep because the doorman had a FreshDirect delivery.
I threw on some clothes and went downstairs to get my groceries, which were supposed to come this evening and didn't, only to discover the front desk had called me but it wasn't my delivery. I could have kept this other woman's delivery, but who wants 8 rolls of paper towels in a 600 square foot apartment?
Only in New York can you get a 1 a.m. booty call from a grocery delivery guy.

So now I'm awake again. Good thing John got me hooked on coffee, because I have a three-hour meeting tomorrow morning and I need to be on my game.