Then there was tonight.
I was dreaming that I was having professional portraits made for my big blogging debut (whatever that is) and the photographer, who I think I knew, was using a vacuum cleaner to do my hair. The vacuum cleaner sounded like this: whiiiiiiip, pip, pip, pip, pip, pip. It was about the time that the vacuum cleaner farted that I realized it was my happily sleeping hubby.
So, I checked the time (2:57), and I turned over hoping to go back to sleep because vacuum or not, I like having my hair done. Instead, my mind woke itself right up and wouldn't shut itself off, so here I am to give you a little insight into the workings of a middle-of-the-night genius.
Farts have been disturbing my sleep way too much. Farting didn't use to disturb my sleep, then we got cats, and I'm beginning to believe that they are the reason I've become hyper-sensitive to farts which now disturb my sleep. Every single night.
The Daughters do a lot of crazy stuff in their sleep, like argue. And sleepwalk. And hang small camping lanterns in their closets and the bathrooms which will make me wonder if someone is spotlighting our house in the middle of the night. I will, thankfully, check it out before calling 911.
If I did a Google search of 2:57, what would come up? Would it be a whole lot of clocks of different kinds all showing 2:57? Why would people take pictures of clocks showing that time? People will take pictures of just about anything, huh?
If the sound's muted on the computer, I could very easily take about twenty-one screen shots of my silly Google search out of frustration, believing that the screenshot combo was busted.
My mom did a really good job of potty training me because the minute I wake up, I have to pee. Have to. It doesn't matter if its 9:57AM (which is standard for the summer) or 2:57AM (which was my standard bedtime my junior year in college). I have to pee.
Does anyone start stories with "Once upon a time" anymore? I should start using that phrase again.
Why in the world would my neighbor and his diesel truck need to leave at 3:23AM? And why would he need to let the truck warm up for five minutes? And I hope everything's okay because 3:23AM is not a good time to be leaving.
If the cats are so danged comfy on the recliner that I have to fight with them to get them off the recliner long enough for me to sit down on the recliner, why don't they stay in the living room and do their late night/early-morning farting?
I have a beautiful life: A husband who is amazing and loves me and supports me and holds impromptu "How To Be A Man" sessions at water parks with local men-boys who have no one else to talk to; my daughters really are amazing and sweet and, as I type this at 3:52 in the AM, they are talking nicely to each other in their sleep (Daughter 1 just said, "You go first," and Daughter 2 just answered back, "I'll make a pie."); I get to spend the majority of my days writing (my first passion) or teaching (also my first passion)--not many people get the privilege of finding their passion, much less getting to live their passion on a daily basis.
When I am tired and can't sleep, I get mushy and weepy and wax poetic about beautiful living and passions. I also spend way too much time thinking about farting.