I’m supposed to be in bed sleeping — languishing for at least a few more hours in semi-slumberland and waiting for the MoH to bring me that strong, black coffee that he likes to make in the French press. But no.
I’ve been awake since about 2:30 engaged in a rather extended session of flashing, sweating like a pig, then freezing my rear end off.
Oh, and the random thought parade is in full swing with every person, idea, or “thing to remember” jockeying for position front and center. I just decided to get up. I could read — if the book I have been trudging through was actually enjoyable. But no.
It must be fairly close to sunrise, because I can hear the first tentative chirp of a bird through the open window. I could at least be rewarded with the possibility of a rosy dawn since I’m here and everyone else is sleeping — well except my doggo who is semi-dozing a few feet away, disgusted that she isn’t on her pillow next to my side of the bed. I could. But no.
It’s overcast and grey. As grey as the lint that I peel off the screen in my dryer. Or that record-sized hairball the Yack Star hacked up in the night that I still haven’t picked up. No rays of brightness creeping up over the distance today. Nope.
I’m reduced to doing Google searches for the spam caught on my blog, and sucking down my second cup of Irish Breakfast Tea. I should have hair on my chest by the time the MoH comes looking for me and telling me I should be in bed so he can bring me breakfast and give me my present.
So Happy Mother’s Day to me, and to you. Hopefully you’re at brunch somewhere, and not reading this stoopid post.
Hopefully yours is as excellent as ours was yesterday. How do you spell calories? Mmmm…