For three nights, I slept in a strange bed, in a room not my own while my in-laws slept in my bedroom. (And by “in-laws”, I mean my 82-year old father-in-law and his new bride.) My dog was confused and kept barking outside of my bedroom door as she is accustomed to sleeping on my bedroom floor.
Then the time changed Saturday night and ever since I find myself dragging through the days as if I were a newborn baby who had days and nights mixed up. I want to nap every twenty minutes.
I’m reading a memoir–“Wild” by Cheryl Strayed. I’m racing through it, really, reading during commercials of “Survivor” and whenever I can keep from napping. I love a good memoir. (What’s your favorite?)
I’d write more now if only I could sleep-write.