Okay, despite the title of this post I feel compelled to write something.
On Thursday morning Studly Doright and I had the following text exchange:
All he needs is milk and pot pies. All I need is eight hours of sleep. I don’t even like milk or pot pies, but if consuming either meant I could sleep I’d buy large quantities of both.
Having slept very little on Wednesday night, I figured I’d sleep soundly on Thursday night. Wouldn’t that have made sense? I must have dozed off for a few minutes after we went to bed last night. A bit of drool on my pillow was proof of that, as well as the reason I woke up. There’s nothing like the feel of cold, wet slobber on one’s cheek to bring all the senses alive. Ick.
I couldn’t go back to sleep after trying for an hour, so I took my book and went to the sofa in the den thinking that reading for awhile would soon make my eyelids droop, and I’d fall asleep mid-sentence, awakening renewed and refreshed. Nope. Never happened. I finished the entire book and was so wired afterwards one would’ve thought I’d consumed multiple cups of espresso during the night. It’s a good thing I’m retired. This could be a long day.
Here’s a clip from the Mary Tyler Moore Show. I could’ve used Mr. Grant’s help last night.
Peace, (yawn!) People.