This morning I woke up at 5:30 again and started going about my morning of shoving everyone in the car with everything they needed. Then I suddenly realized that I didn't know if the girls' appointments were today or tomorrow. Of course, these weren't written on my calendar because I didn't remember long enough to write it down.
I am getting old. There was a time when I could run on 5 hours of sleep for three straight weeks before feeling tired. I could stay up for 4 straight days and only start hallucinating at the very end. I could sleep on the ground for 8 days and still get up and run.
If I'm not sleeping in my own bed I'm not sleeping. And that's not necessarily caused by sleeping in a place that smells like my father since last Wednesday, or sleeping with a dog who must be having the same nightmares about Joe that I am because she sometimes growls wildly and thrashes in her sleep. Soon I'll be taking her to Dartmouth for some prozac as well.
I just miss my bed. My nice big bed that's not too soft or too hard. That smells like incense and sage and me. I miss how it gently cradles my hip and it has just enough give to let my boobs breathe. I love my 4 pillows, two big and fluffy, one a little flatter, and one made of memory foam. Which is something my head is missing this morning.