It’s five in the freaking morning here and I’m awake. I wouldn’t say wide awake  — it’s that annoying awake that’s awake enough to make it impossible to go back to sleep but not awake enough to, say, operate heavy machinery.

Not that I would. Operate heavy machinery, that is. The closest thing I have here to heavy machinery is my car and where the freak would I be going at 5:00am? Well, I guess the biscuit places up the street are open but it’s not like I can eat anything there. It would be a nice surprise for the humans in my house but again…heavy machinery. No bueno.

It also seems unwise for me to be here working light machinery like my laptop, mostly since I can drop semi-awake thoughts out there onto the internet like some nut with no filter but I’m hoping if I siphon these annoyances out of my brain I can go back to sleep.

A girl can dream, but only if she’s sleeping so here we go, in no particular order.

How can one be up past midnight hacking away only to have their brain pop open at this ungodly hour? This seems like that cruel and unusual punishment thing. I should report myself to whatever department handles constitutional offenses.

Turns out I need to research my own medical interventions before attending one of our local urgent cares as it seems a particular doctor may defer to my “extensive expertise” in what to freaking do with a respiratory issue. Don’t get me wrong, we’re always complaining that doctors don’t listen to their patients so maybe I should be grateful for one that turns to me and says, “Okay, what do you want to do?” Except I struggle with choices and didn’t actually know what to do, I simply knew sending my effed up lungs home with a “meh, be happy it’s not covid or influenza, just up the fluids and pick up something over the counter for relief” wasn’t a viable option for me.

Not looking forward to starting a prednisone pack today. I mean yeah, sure, I’ll be happy to straighten things out so it doesn’t feel like a baby elephant has parked its adorably wrinkled patootie on my chest but prednisone makes me cranky and edgy and even more unable to sleep so…pisser. Nothing says holiday spirit like someone teetering on the edge.

Who am I kidding. Someone teetering on the edge is often the epitome of holiday spirit. Yeah, yeah, I know. December is about love and light and appreciating the magic of the season. Except my particular brand of anxiety and issues with perfection — I know, it’s one of my things, I’m working on it — tend to make times like these challenging. To say the least.


Must run. Seven is used to sweet snuggling at my insomniac hours and has already made two passes over the keyboard. If he decides to lunge at this thing it’s all over. Best wishes for more than five hours of sleep and an edge teetering free December.