Lying awake, I can feel a dull ache in my head. Is it possible to have a headache in the midst of sleep, or did it just strike me now? Oddly enough, I don’t feel the urge to use the restroom. That can’t be right. I must be dehydrated.
Time to schedule a doctor’s appointment for a routine check-up. How frequently do I really need to go for these? My fatigue is overwhelming. Why can’t someone send me a reminder?
All those conversations, all those moments… I’ll take “English Electronica Bands from the ’80s” for $400, please, Alex. My daughter has this peculiar way of jumping from topic to topic; one moment she’s discussing her Native American history project, and the next, she’s lost in a tangent about a house elf from Harry Potter. It’s bewildering.
Shouldn’t I get up and do something productive? Isn’t that the advice everyone gives? Embrace being awake if you’re awake. Yet, I’m too exhausted to even consider that.
Should I invite those friends to the bat mitzvah? They probably won’t come, but they’ll be upset if I don’t invite them. What if they do show up? The guest list is already enormous, and the costs are climbing.
I need a stable job—one that offers a regular paycheck and benefits, like vacation time. But then, I wouldn’t want just any job. I enjoy my current roles. Maybe I need a clear job description; then I could establish proper office hours: “The Mother Is In.” Ha! I crack myself up.
Dobby. That little character always pops into my mind. I can’t get enough of this song: “I just can’t get enough.”
When is she going to wake up and come into my room? She’s done it for the last two nights; the third night is often the magic number. Why do people even say that? What’s so special about three? I should Google it.
There’s no point in trying to sleep when I know she’ll wake me again. Maybe that’s the reason I’m lying awake—anticipating her arrival. It’s like I’m always on alert.
Why am I the one who ends up dealing with everything? I still can’t believe I’ve seen that infamous celebrity completely unclothed—what a sight that was!
Indy or Han Solo? Can you believe Harrison Ford is the same age as my dad?
Come on, already! If my daughter is a narcissist, is it my fault? Twelve years of encouragement may have spoiled her, right? Thanks for the late revelation, experts.
Am I a narcissist too? Oh my goodness, what if I am? Can a narcissist even recognize their own behavior?
I’ve got to mail the mortgage check.
I need at least seven hours of sleep to function tomorrow. But you know what? I’ll be fine. Positive thinking is key! I’m off to my happy place—surfing on a wave of optimism.
Can you really meditate yourself to sleep? Sometimes, I wonder if anyone truly likes me. Facebook seems to be against me.
A bit of a high feeling, perhaps from dehydration and exhaustion. Legalize it.
Maybe she thinks I’m a stalker, but I genuinely appreciate what she shares. Liking is nice, right? Perhaps I overdo it.
I hope Carol and Daryl finally kiss on that show!
Here she comes again.
“You’re like an angel, and you give me your love, and I just can’t seem to get enough.”
I might be ruining her sleep routine, but I’m not getting up to tuck her back in. She won’t be three forever.
I just can’t get enough.