You turn the light right off, don't even need to read first, time for sleeping.
The cat climbs aboard and asks to be petted.
You oblige for awhile, with gentle chin-scratching and purring.
You roll over, cuddle up with a stuffed bear.
The cat wanders away.
You kick your feet out from under the covers, too hot.
You put a pillow between your knees, one foot out of the covers, one under.
You roll over onto your other side, tangle your legs up in your nest of pillows.
You think about the tie-dye tights you saw earlier, and what to wear them with.
You sprawl on your back, legs over a pillow and sticking out the side.
You make plans to install a webcam pointing at your bed, as these acrobatics have got to be entertaining to watch later.
You wonder about the technology of wireless webcams for awhile.
You lay on your stomach, switching your arms back and forth from under the covers to on top of them.
You wiggle the covers so they aren't touching your feet (feet need to breathe).
You try to find ways to lie on your stomach without asphyxiating yourself in your pillow.
You balance your cheek on the bones of your hand.
You try to figure out which nostril is working at greater capacity.
You try to remember the new hip-hop dance you learned earlier in the evening.
You plan a new dance wardrobe.
You think about shoe-shopping.
You flip over your pillow.
It's not cool enough, you flip it again.
You press the button once for the bedlamp, and look at your fingers.
Mrwr?, the cat asks - it had not gone far.
"I can't sleep," you explain to it.
The cat strolls up, indicating that you can pet it with your newfound energy.
You press the button again for the bedlamp, and squint.
You realize you're getting up.
You put on your eyeglasses and some warmer clothes, wander downstairs.
The cable modem is down.
You stare at the non-blinking lights for awhile.
You go into the bathroom, and look at the sleeping pills.
It's really too late to be taking one, you don't want to be groggy in the morning.
You take half of one.
You stare the face in the mirror for awhile, wondering what she's thinking.
You turn on the television, searching for comedy.
King of the Hill is ending; they're having a pancake breakfast.
You are hungry for pancakes.
Or even waffles, those are so tasty, with butter and syrup.
Suddenly Susan is on....you've always hated her annoying ways.
Mad About You is on....you remember how sad you got when you saw them break up during the season finale.
It seemed like even the most perfect tv relationship was doomed to failure.
It didn't even make it better when they got back together years later, it was still a tragedy that you took to heart.
You felt betrayed.
You remember how your boyfriend at the time was completely mystified by your reaction.
It's just a sitcom, after all.
You watch Mad About You, and it makes you smile, which is really the point.
Your mind wanders, triggered by a weird costumed moment in the end of the Mad About You episode you didn't see, which was finishing just before the one you did see.
You start planning out possible costumes for Halloween, and for the Masquerade Ball you read about earlier, that who knows, you might try.
The tie dye should surely be incorporated.
You decide that sketching them out would be cool.
You think about your sketchbook upstairs, unused for so long, and wish you had gotten around to buying new oil crayons for it, and maybe some colored pencils or something.
You wish you were good at sketching.
You find The Messenger, that Joan d'Arc movie, and start watching that interspersed with Cheers episodes during the commercials.
You could wear the tall boots, with tie dye tights, and a shiny tiny black miniskirt.
You wonder if a shiny black miniskirt would look good on you, and think about looking for one.
On top, your tie dye tank top maybe, and perhaps pigtails.
It could be tie-dye-goth-girl, with lots of black makeup and angst.
Or, forget the angst, it could be just tie-dye-girl!
You could wear your comfy-crazy tie dye pants, and the new shoes!
You suspect it is time to invest in a tie dye bra, or perhaps bathing suit (which you found on that site!)...as a little extra winning incentive.
The tie dye store you found hours ago before you even tried to go to bed keeps rearing its sparkly head.
In requires further investigation.
But you're still in the livingrooom huddled up under the blanket watching a French battle led by a mad girl interspersed with Cheers.
Somehow with all the Joan-watching, and the John Malchovvitz-Being, you start to get hungry.
And you start making a salad in your head, consisting largely of ingredients which do not currently reside within this residence.
Unfortunately, the only creatures which aren't mildly high on un-working sleeping pills don't have opposable thumbs, so they couldn't shop for you anyway anyway.
Damn higher evolution!!
But the salad you wish you made, well it started from tunafish, because you've been craving it.
And a few spoonfuls of fat-free mayonnaise.
Tiny slivers of chopped apples, which sounds weird, but you had them once in tuna a long time ago and it was really delicious that way.
And maybe you'd add in diced hardboiled egg, cucumbers chopped real small, pickles, celery.
(Because who doesn't love celery? Especially since you are willing to be on hand with dentalfloss should it be required.)
Spooned onto lettuce, eaten with a fork.
Laying on the couch, tangled in blankets which are only barely doing their job in keeping your vital limbs warm.
Watching The Messenger, she seems so sincere and so full of herself, but you can't fully trust her.
Your legs get jittery. Your your whole body really, it's all jittery!
This is one of those clues your body sends, when it's way past time to go to bed, when it really needs to sleep.
You wiggle, you jitter, you bounce your way off the couch.
"To bed, to bed", you call the harem of kitties.
You all crawl and wiggle under and into the covers. and wiggle there. and wiggle there some more.
Too restless to settle down, apparently your body isn't ready for sleep after all?
Most ineffective! Your body had lied to you?!
Your restlessness and wiggling evolves into trying to come up with exercizes you can do while lying on your stomach.
Might as well at least burn some calories, if you're not going to sleep.
But it doesn't work well, because your legs are sore from so much skating.
You are laying on your stomach, clenching your butt-cheeks, when you realize how ridiculously stupidly useless this is.
What the hell, you aren't sleeping, you aren't even aerobicizing effectively, it is time to get up again!
You go directly to the kitchen, to study the foodstuff there.
It is possible you are hungry, and needed to make a pizza.
It sounds delightful, but you know eating in the middle of the night isn't good for you.
It is possible you are tired and should maybe drink your "Sleepytime Tea".
Or maybe you're supposed to make warm milk with honey.
It seems like too much work, and you aren't thirsty.
Instead, you start composing another grand salad while going through your cupboards.
Yes oh yes, still a tuna base, but we would add my artichoke salsa instead of boring old mayo.
And maybe crumbled tortilla chips. And corn! And Pasta!
Frozen dinners, eat your heart out. Your low-fat, healthy, culinary taste sensations will have chefs everywhere on their knees.
Just as soon as you go to the market.
And get some sleep.
Which is why you go from the kitchen to the bathroom and weigh yourself.
(Well, you always weigh myself in the bathroom. It's where the scale is.)
Then, in the bathroom, you decide to take other other half of the sleeping pill!
Then you sit down to write this exciting journal entry before it is all forgotten in the midst of the new morning's tiredness.
(Halfway through the entry, you get to be VERY HIGH on that second sleeping pill, and you wisely save the entry with a "private" security, until you can edit and rework it with a clearer head in the morning.)
Ladies and Gentlemen, it is 4:41am. Hopefully we will all have slept the sleep of angels before we meet up again.
You head to bed.
You finally sleep peacefully...for a few hours before morningtime rudely sends you off to work.