A decidedly different post than this past Friday’s.

I am sitting here, at my computer, with my brow furrowed, writing.

It is 1:18 am.

About 30 minutes ago, and after struggling fitfully for some time, my eyes opened wide (imagine the cartoon sound-mixture of breaking glass and squealing brass horns, and picture red veins in my eyes) and I gave up trying to go back to sleep with the buzzsaw next to me droning on endlessly.

Annoyed, I snatched up my pillow.  I resisted the rather strong temptation to hold it over John’s face.

Instead, I quietly (can stomping be referred to as quiet?) left the room and stumbled down the stairs (YAY FOR STAIRS!NOT.) to the couch.

After having finally quieted the seemingly endless stampede of noisy elephants in my brain that is my mind refusing to shut the HELL up when I want to go to sleep (does that ever happen to you?) I was starting to drift back towards the edge of slumber.  In fact, the wispy tendrils of sleep sent by the sandman were already winding their way into my hair and tickling my cheeks.

Suddenly, a small sound crept down the stairs and around the bend, hurrying to reach me before I escaped to my dreamworld.  It grew quickly, and (was I imagining it?) truimphantly it danced across my face with heavy feet, ripped its way down the auditory canals and bitch slapped my eardrums.  

I was not slow to identify it as the evil.snoring.from.hell.

It is completely normal and sane to lie on your couch half-naked well past midnight, biting your lip, clutching your pillow, and thinking about putting some “special powder” in your husband’s morning coffee.

I am so not deranged and psychotic.

*cartoon-sound: cuckoo clock*