It's About Me

I woke up this morning, late by most standards, after my third night of insomnia. I looked at the clock through dry, scratchy eyes and wondered why I was still in bed at 7:30 a.m. Oh, the time change. It’s really 6:30. Okay, so not really, but you know what I mean.

I then bustled out of bed to find some coffee. Okay, again, not so much bustled as limped for the first 20 feet while my age old muscles uncrimped from lack of use through the night.

Did I mention that getting old is a royal pain? Really. Think about that while I go find the ibuprophen.

So my pain interrupted the original thought this post was to encompass. Devon. He went for a 5-day jaunt over to his mother’s. By day two I was having withdrawls. Day three I called him. The entire time he was gone, I’d get out of bed…ah, there, see I remember getting out of bed and starting this conversation…and wonder why he wasn’t up yet. I thought we were late for school. You know how that feels. The funny little panic feeling begins to prickle from the dark recesses of your brain as realization dawns that something is amiss. Then full blown ‘oh crap’. As your body tries to catch up to the scramble going on in your brain, the gear in your frazzled brain slips into place and you realize there’s no need to panic. Saddly, by this time your body caught up to the initial panic attack. It’s now moving faster than your non-caffienated brain. Ah, mornings.

Devon’s finally home as of today. Well, yesterday. But I haven’t slept yet so it’s still Wednesday to me. Insomnia. I love it.

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