It started out with so much promise.

11:00 p.m. – Bedtime.  Glorious bedtime.  After a long day of doing nothing and putting dents in the couch cushions, sleep was a welcome friend.  Ear plugs in.

11:20 p.m.-ish – 1:15 a.m. – Dreams.  Boring, vivid, mundane dreams.  I remember nothing but a carnival.  They were those dreams that trick you into thinking you’ve been asleep for days, when you’ve actually barely entered REM.

1:16 a.m. – OUCH!  Cramp in my inside lady parts!  Stupid cramp.

1:46 a.m. – Still not asleep.  Dog is dry heaving.  Wrum wrum wrum.  Ear plugs out.  I run and grab him and throw him into the bathroom.  If you’re gonna spew, spew in there.  Ear plugs in.

2:15 a.m. – Still not asleep.  Dog has escaped the bathroom and has puked under the bed.  Twice.  Ear plugs out.  AH and I clean and sanitize.  Dog wants a drink to wash down the remnants of partially digested raw hide.  I’m not getting up, so AH takes care of that. 

2:20 a.m. – The men are back.  The dog wants up on the bed, much like a child who wants their mommy when they feel sick.  But…no.  The dog hasn’t been allowed on the bed since November, 2008 (click the link.  it will reveal so much), and I’m not about to change that rule because of a little grumbly tumbly.

2:45 a.m. – Still not asleep.  Forgot to re-insert ear plugs, so “someone’s” snoring is keeping me up.  Ear plugs in.

2:46 a.m. – Finally asleep.  Dreams.  Less vivid.  I don’t remember any of them.  But that’s a good thing.  Better than nightmares.

3:50 a.m. – OUCH!  More cramps in my lady bits.

4:10 a.m. – Back to sleep.  No time to dream.

6:30 a.m. – Alarm clock has alerted me with the sounds of two douchebag disc jockeys at whatever classical station I have it set to.  I hate those two jerks.  Always waking me up like a couple of loud mouthed, pompous anuses.  Ear plugs out.  Thinking they know more about classical music than me.  Looking down their noses at the stations I listen to in the car.  Which are awesome, by the way.  Jerks.  Stupid classical music.  Classical music can suck it.  And, geez, where did all this sweat come from?  I’ve been asleep for 2 hours and I’ve sweated through my sleep shirt like I was doing a full body sprint the entire time.  Stupid and ridiculous and embarrassing.  If I cared.  Which I don’t.  So I’m not embarrassed.  This sweat can suck it.  Stupid sweat.  And boy oh boy, am I regretting yesterday’s decision to forgo a shower.  I’m going to need to shower twice just to fully absolve myself of this stink that has seeped so far into and out of my pours I’d be surprised if it’s not permanent.  Stupid stink.  Suck it, stink.  OH, WTF, work?  Really?  Again?  Didn’t we do this dance last week?  With the getting dressed and the leaving of the house?  Already?  Stupid sucky work*. 

Too.  Much.  Tired.

***

* Work, it’s not you.  It’s me.  You’re not stupid or sucky.  I’m just tired and grumpy and I’m projecting my feelings onto you.  I’ll make it up to you by showing up on time and not leaving early and probably working through my breaks because I forget to look at the clock, even the one that is at the bottom right corner of my computer that I stare at all day.  We’ll be ok, you and I.  I just need to work through this on my own.

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5 thoughts on “It started out with so much promise.

  1. All of these dog posts keep affirming to me why I am not going to give in and buy my nine year old a dog. Ever. But I’ll keep telling her she miIiiIiiiight……. Because I just can’t tell her it ain’t happening.

  2. Side Note: 2:15am – Dog does not want drink of water. Dog wants out. Dog decides now would be a good time to run around the backyard looking for a spot to crap like it’s the most important decision he’s ever going to make. After 10 minutes of searching and straining, Dog returns to backdoor. AH spends 5 mins wiping diarrhea from his arse with a wet wipe before returning to bed.

    • Yes! Not yes! that you had to do that. Yes! because a) I didn’t, and b) that adds such an important second dimension to the story. Now we just need Bosco’s point of view…

  3. I have as much compassion for our furry little friends as the next guy, but if it were me I would have let that thing go play out in the street. So maybe I don’t have as much compassion as the next guy.

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