I am a cheap drunk.
No, I don’t mean I’m a lush. I mean that one beer, on an empty stomach, and served with a slice or two of carb-laden pizza, effectively knocks me out. There is no giddyness, no sloshiness, just a soft descent into sleep.
This is what happened earlier tonight, almost. I fought the sleep, went online, looked at house plans, surfed monster, did research on licensing in Colorado (for my present job, actually), and moved on from there to convincing Fuzzy it was bedtime at 12:47, when we rarely, if ever, turn out the lights before two. Or three.
At 3:30, he got up because Cleo was sitting on the top of the bed, nudging us. Apparently this is her new signal for “Let me out; I have to pee.” Zorro’s signal, much harder to miss, involves sitting on one of our chests and licking our noses, then jumping to the floor, catlike, and scratching at the door. We have no trouble interpreting this, but Cleo can be a bit less obvious (see above).
When she came back, Fuzzy decided HE had to make a pitstop as well. Fortunately, he is an adult human, capable of letting himself out of the bathroom. I sighed, and rolled over, tried to go back to sleep.
It didn’t work. I just kept thinking silly things that wouldn’t go away:
My shoulders hurt. Zorro, stop licking my foot. Now. Stop it now. Thank you. No, don’t sleep on my shoulder – it hurts. Silly dog. It’s hot in here. How can it be hot in here when I’m cold. Am I cold? No. I’m just awake. Sleep. 1-2-3 Sleep. Do I have to pee?
I did, in fact, get up to answer Nature’s call, pausing to rub some mentholated cream on my very achy shoulders. Lovely stuff: it relaxes the muscles and clears the sinus passages, too.
I returned to bed, tried to get comfortable, cuddled up to Fuzzy. And found I was wide awake.
So, here I sit, a bit over an hour later. I began this entry at 4:50 AM. The dogs, who follow ME more than Fuzzy, are snoring in chorus. Zorro is on the blue chair. Cleo is on a pillow on the floor. And I am getting drowsy again.
I’m so glad it’s Friday.
Back to bed.