It’s 4:06 AM and I’m wide awake. WIDE-stinkin’-AWAKE.
It’s been one of those nights.
Little Bit came stumbling into our bedroom around 1:00 because her alarm clock had gone off in her room and woken her up. SuperMan put her back to sleep but then I was waking up every fifteen minutes because I was afraid he wouldn’t come back to bed and he’d miss his alarm clock going off. Finally, I went and got him so we could all sleep properly (read: I could sleep properly!) and all was well.
Storms were blowing in and there was a lot of thunder and lightning, but I drifted back to sleep in spite of the light and sound show outside.
And then it happened.
The thing that is GUARANTEED to ruin my night’s sleep if it happens.
That sick, gross, scare-the-PJs-off-of-you feeling.
You know the one.
The one when you feel something CRAWLING ON YOUR ARM while you sleep!
I was out of the covers in no time – cowering at the foot of the bed like a scared little thing. I had slapped the heck out of my arm, and I think I killed whatever it was, but there was no way to know for sure.
Poor SuperMan was awakened by my gymnastics (and shivering, quivering and whimpering, probably) and came around to turn on the lights and check to see if he could find a carcass or something. (and this is why we call him SuperMan – I mean, waking up at 3AM to rescue your wife from random bug attacks! totally awesome!)
The creature was no where to be found.
Which, really, didn’t make me feel any better. The rational part of my brain said he was probably long gone (or dead) but the emotional wreck part of me (that was clearly in charge at the time) said that he could be anywhere, lurking and waiting to crawl on me again.
Sleep just wasn’t going to happen.
So, here I sit at my computer with a cup of chamomile tea and watching the storms out my office window.
Good thing I don’t have any early-morning meetings today. I may need a nap later.
But, you know, I shouldn’t be surprised.
It’s been one of those weeks.
Tuesday, you will notice, had no blog post.
That was because I was suffering from PTSD (not really) from a dentist’s appointment.
Last week I broke a crown while munching on some peanuts as my afternoon snack.
So, Tuesday morning I went to get the crown replaced. It’s a long story, but it was a temporary crown that had gone way past it’s “Best if Used By” date. They were going to give me a new temporary and order me a new permanent crown.
Now, you have to bear in mind one thing: I DON’T DO DENTISTS.
I have a serious, major fear of dentists. There aren’t many things that get me as anxious as dentists – except maybe bugs crawling on me in the middle of the night…
But I had no choice. I had to go and get this raggedy piece of tooth fixed.
And there I sat, Tuesday morning, with my little green “bib” on my shirt trying to read (and reading the same paragraph forty-seven times without knowing what it said) and waiting for the dentist to come in.
I won’t bore you with all the details – but it was a Murphy’s Law kind of visit. They broke two temporary crowns on two of my teeth while trying to fix the one that was broken. I think we went through five or six temporaries before they got two to work on the two teeth they were working on.
It was fun, let me tell you.
I had so much adrenaline running through my system I was a quivering, shaking mess. I could barely walk out of there because my legs were like jelly.
And I had two of my girlfriends giving me moral support as I gave them blow-by-blow accounts from my cell phone.
And I get to do it all over again in a couple weeks when the permanent crowns come in.
Oh, I see SuperMan is up – getting ready for work. I guess I’ll go chat with him while I finish my tea.
Thanks for keeping me company this morning.
I hope your week has been a little less eventful than mine. Or, if it has been eventful, it’s been more fun!