February 10, 2009 by Marj Hatzell
Since Bugaboo is not known as the world’s best sleeper, it safe to say that I’m luck to get a lump of hours of sleep that are uninterrupted. I’m exhausted most of the time because I don’t get into deep, quality sleep. Therefore, I don’t dream very much these days. What dreams I do have I remember, because they are quite peculiar. And by that I mean I’m wondering what drugs or fumes I absorbed before my head hits the pillow because OH MY STINKING HECK they are strange. Even without my favorite muscle relaxant.
To make it even worse, the nights that he sleeps? I am staring at the ceiling for hours, recalling my schedule in all four years of high school, who I sat next to in ninth grade English class (Trinh) and what I had for lunch (grade D but edible cheese fries). I also think of everyone in band, who I dated (brass and winds, mostly) and wonder what they’re up to now. Thanks, facebook.
But the dreams! HOLY HECK! Last night, for example, I had a dream that I was married to Barack Obama. And we called him Barry. And I had to hide every where we went. And he did not like Potatoes (which, incidentally, is how I figured out it was a dream and then called Barry on it, because everyone knows that I’d never be married to a man who did not respect the Tuber, mmkay?). And there was much rejoicing (yea).
The past few weeks have been nearly nightmare-ish. And if that isn’t a word, too bad. I’m using it anyways. Between stomach viruses, flus, colds and insomnia (I am sooooo tired of watching Thomas the Tank Engine at 3am. I want to break little toy trains now) we’ve gotten socked. Our plate is not just full, it’s OVERFLOWING, y’all. The husband’s work issues are coming to a head, his boss has breast cancer for the third time (and she doesn’t have a big survival rate this time), Bugaboo has been draining us, Bug Boy has been having anxiety attacks, my father-in-law is suicidal, my mother-in-law is moving (this will devastate Bug Boy, more on that later), my mother is recovering from surgery, money is tight, we’re trying to figure out what to do with Bugaboo for the next school year and I’ve got a stack of paperwork about three telephone books high.
I think I know why we are all having difficulty catching Zzzzzs, eh? It ain’t because muddy doggy jumped up on my CLEAN WHITE SHEETS or because the sink is overflowing and the house ain’t tidy. Though those things certainly are not out promoting the cause.
But I’m thinking that tossing and turning while thinking of possible word combos in online word scrambles also isn’t helping the cause.
Where’s Joseph when you need him?