Insomnia is a funny thing. Mine is often the product of medication (thanks a lot, drugs, I thought we were friends) interrupting my
beauty sleep, followed up promptly by my innate desire to bake things or organize things or do all the things I forgot at work that are time sensitive and only pop up in my mind at, say, 4:53 am on a Sunday. And then, just when I think I might be able to rally the troops and get back to sleep, Husband starts snoring. When we first got married, I thought this was really cute. It’s not really cute. I might smother him in his sleep any day now, so if I appear in the news, you’ll know why. (Dear anyone who reads this who might take me seriously: I am not going to smother my husband.)
What’s even worse is I was completely convinced I’d manage to be witty this early in the morning and blog on and on about wondrous things.