On Monday night we had storms. I didn’t know that because I was sawing logs with my sleep number set on 45, dreaming of a strange child named Ohm who was up for auction because he broke out in bruised lumps on his body whenever he made a sound.
I probably should lay off the late night snacks.
The next morning, I stumbled out of bed to check Facebook and heard from my town friends that there were tornadoes in 57 surrounding counties and it was frightening. To everyone except me. Instead I was being haunted by Ohm, and was taking his picture and blogging about him to try to find him a good home. I was hoping you would take him in. You would wouldn’t you?
Tornadoes in real life.
Weird boys who flap their hands in dreamland.
Anyway, I was just so thoroughly impressed with myself and my sleeping abilities. Because obviously, I’ve got to work with what I have. So impressed, in fact, that I bragged about it on facebook.
You remember what my grannie always said, “She who tooteth her own horn, the same shall not be tooted.”
Needless to say, I awoke this morning at 2:20 with a brain synonymous to a monkey on Red Bull and acid. I tried praying, I tried stretching, I tried reading, I tried deep breathing. If Jason had been in the bed, I’d’ve tried that too. I was desperate.
Nothing would settle the monkey.
So I finally gave up at 4:00, had coffee and started my day. Now I’m tired.
The last time I bragged, my goldfish died.
You know what they say about her don’t cha?
Lesson learned this time.
The monkey is finally sleeping.