In Which I Prove That I Am Still Two Years Old - Mentally, If Not Physically

I have this thing about going to sleep.

There are times when I just get up, go upstairs and go to sleep. It's a decent hour, I know I'll wake up rested, God's in His heaven and all's right with the world.

Then the Sleep Demons take over.

I decide I can stay up for "a while" to do whatever. "A while" turns into midnight or after, and yet I feel the need to stay up "a while longer" because obviously I have not proven my stupid enough yet. Even under the influence of my friend Ambien I have been known to stay up long enough for the initial zonk to wear off. I will literally find myself falling asleep in whatever chair I'm in and refuse to go upstairs to bed because I might miss something.

At 3 a.m. in the morning.

I am understandably less than sane.

Last night The Boy, who has set World Records for Sleeping Late this summer, had to drag my sorry butt out of the chair bodily and force me upstairs to the bed. Now, that's quite a haul for ME, so you can imagine the strength it took for HIM to do that.

It was a sad, sad state of affairs.

However, this is the same child who makes a point of interrupting each and every nap I try to take by coming into the bedroom 1) to ask me a question that absolutely could have waited until sometime the next millennium to be answered, or 2) passing through to use my bathroom because his sister just stunk theirs up and he can't stand to breathe through his mouth for the 1.2 minutes it will take him to stand up and pee, flush, and wash his hands.

Because The Boy is a delicate flower.

So today, please forgive me if I seem a little groggy and out of sorts. It happens if I don't get my full 12.5 hours a night of uninterrupted shut-eye.

I know you understand.