Staring at the ceiling at 2 in the afternoon—that was my first mistake. You should never remove the towel from your eyes, because that ruins the illusion that you’re trying to foist off on your body that it’s dark outside.
I listen to the little yappy dog from next door and fantasize that he’d fit perfectly in my microwave, but my two dogs would look askance at me if I even voiced this desire in their presence. They’re lying on either side of me, making me sweat, and I know that if I move even a muscle they will wake up and demand food. And then expect to be let out so they can get their bark on, too. And then they’ll want to come back in, and then forget it, my whole attempt to sleep will be shot.
Who am I kidding? I haven’t had a full day’s sleep in years. The world won’t cooperate. So I live in paradise, but walk around in a perpetual fog and rarely see the sun. And yet nothing gets done because I’m too tired to do anything except toss and turn.
I used to be so sharp. Now I’m dull and pasty and overweight and prone to colds despite the fact that I have no human contact. So I roll over to fall back asleep… and wake up the dogs.
Photo credit: Scrubadoo.com
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