I just couldn’t sleep last night. I had 10 zillion things on my mind, and they were all competing for volume and space. I was having an “Asperger’s Moment” - my brain became overloaded with the smell of garlic that was lingering on the air from the lovely dinner I’d actually managed to cook. Between that and the dog scratching and my brain zipping in ten different directions, I was dead in the water when it came to sleep.

Thoroughly aggravated, my thoughts and I dragged up out of bed and padded into the kitchen. I tried to ignore the clock, which read 12:49a. My overriding thought was that if I just ran the dishwasher, the garlic smell would dissipate and I might be able to sleep.

No problem.

Out of habit, I reached over the sink to the switch for the garbage disposer. I’d kicked the faucet on first, to make sure there was water in the disposer like a good little Daughter of My Mother. I wasn’t quite ready for what happened when I hit the switch.

The drain spewed water directly upwards and into my face. Yes, it’s 1am and I am dripping with dirty water.

The next half-hour was spent fiddling with the disposer. No matter how many times I turned off the water, stomped my foot, cursed out loud, and tried the disposer again, it wouldn’t stop spewing water.

At 2am I fell into bed, with new pajamas and both sinks filled with water. Eh, I shouldn’t have worried about getting to bed so late, though, because I just went right ahead and slept til 8:08am - two minutes before I have to take Justin to school.

(We had a strange little power outage during the day yesterday and when I got home I had to set every friggin’ clock in the place. I guess I forgot to reset the alarm as well.)

Good: Justin made it to school on time. Bad: my new-ish stylist gave me the “pixie” haircut I specifically told her I did not want! Good: I “sold some money” today. Bad: I worked until 8:30pm.

Between the black “bruises” under my eyes, my revisiting ulcer, and inability to sleep, one would think I’d've figured it out by now, huh?

Lost in a fog,

michelle