Can�t sleep.

Went to bed at 1 a.m. Woke up at 5 a.m. Laid there. And laid there and laid there. Finally decided that my time might be better spent on laundry.

Ugh. Why is it that when your brain decides to keep you awake most of the night, that you can�t feel better about it? I should be motivated to go for a walk, start an exercise routine that would burn off that extra 10 pounds that�s been loitering around my ass. Finish my fiction project.

Instead, I put a load in the washer so that I�d have noise to keep me company.

The worst part is that I know I�m going to feel like crap for the rest of the day. Coffee will get me through the morning, but nothing�s going to save me around 3 p.m. Hell, my head already hurts.

So let me apologize right now:

I�m the cranky witch that�s going to cut in front of you at Jo�s Thursday morning in a desperate effort to inhale as much caffeine as possible before work. I�m going to be the zombie at the red light who will fall asleep at the wheel before it turns green (go ahead and honk, it won�t hurt my feelings). I�m going to be the one to hold up the line at Eckerd�s Thursday evening asking the pharmacist which allergy medication makes you the most drowsy.

For these things and to all my co-workers who will have to suffer through a really bad day with me, I�m sorry in advance.

Somewhere in the last two years, sleep has become my adversary. We box nightly. Sometimes, I win and dreamless oblivion is my reward. But on nights like this past one � when the nightmares come and I lay in bed sweating with the thud of my racing heart in my ears � sleep dances out of reach. And I�m left punching my pillow, and contemplating laundry.

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