This morning, many events conspired against me to prevent further sleep:
4:30 am: Husband's alarm rings. No, not rings. It plays "We Will Rock You", the song that happened to be playing on the radio station the alarm is set to. Husband does not jump, as I did, when this song trumpets the arrival of Way Too Early In The Morning.
4:35 am: Husband's alarm now plays "Tiny Dancer".
4:42 am: OC comes in, tells me she's wet the bed. Up to change sheets. First time in a long time since that's happened. Must've been that last glass of water right before bed? Note to self: don't give OC glass of water right before bed.
5:25 am: husband in to say good bye.
5:26 am: husband in to see if we have a spare key for the back door. No, I say. It's a skeleton key. Oh, he says. I knocked it off the peg and it's behind the water heater. I can't see it.
5:32 am: (hand stuck deeply into 55 year old dust behind water heater) No key.
5:35 am: Get ruler to fish around in dust where I can't reach. Still no key.
5:39 am: Go to back room where the door has been left open. This is a bad sign. The cats could have gotten in here. Look for magnet. Ohhh, the cats DID get in here, at least one of them did, I found the spot with my slipper. Great. Still no damn key. Go look for ruler or other tool, don't know what.
5:41 am: Husband finds key in bucket that was near door. "From now on I will always turn on the light before I reach for the key. Sorry. I won't keep you up anymore."
I'm up. There was just way too many interruptions. I can't go back to sleep after just three times being awakened, much less this morning's extravaganza. It was a real problem when OC was an infant. I was desperately tired, but my body was like, Hell No, Woman! It's been three times, you're up now! Stupid body.
I'm up now, why don't I tell you about my dream?
But not before the cat tries to jump into my lap and digs his claws into the flesh of my thigh.....
I love the damn cats, but am so over their preferred methods of communication. Things like, I don't like where the litter box is = pee on floor! Or, I want to be held even though you're doing something = scratchety-scratch! scratch scratch scratch!
* * *
There are three clean litter boxes, furry dudes, plus that time I held you last night and cleaned your ears. Figure it out...
* * *
Okay, the dream.
I was at a small gathering to hear a performance. It was "Prairie Home Companion" mixed with "This American Life", Garrison Keillor was hosting stories related to a theme. A roomful of people were listening while it would be taped for broadcast.
OH and found a spot to sit and listen, talking to people on the way in. He must have heard me, because then Garrison comes over and asks me to tell a story. Except I've forgotten all my stories! I start writing things down on any surface I can find.
This show has great stories every week, and if I'm going to be one to contribute than I'd better have it written down. I can't find paper, so I write in my spit on tile. Spit is clear, so I can't see it. This makes no sense to me either. I know I'm a better problem-solver than that.
I think I tried to use coffee or Crystal Light on a napkin to write, or something else, and then a woman starts to give me her recipe for homemade lemonade. I feel all distracted and that time is running out, and then I find some paper. For some reason I meet a guy who tells me some his stories. For some other reason, I listen. He's from Vanderbilt University (NCAA, anyone?) and I'm writing his stories down as a way to tell about this guy I met because somehow it makes my story more interesting until I realize I can't remember the end of his story.
So I'm writing, writing, writing and hoping I'm not the first one called to talk. A few other things happen, can't remember, and then I hear "We will, we will, rock you!"
And now that I feel tired again, it's time to get up.