My eyes will no longer stay open more than half mast. I am seriously bagged. So much so that it’s an effort to put my pajamas on and crawl into bed. The hubby has been sleeping for hours, he’s been in the soft-snore zone for a few hours.

It’s warm, dark and sleepy time should happen in, five, four, three, two and one…

My Brain: Hey, what cha doing?

Me: Going off to night-night land.

My Brain: Remember that story you were working on the other day? It was like, five months ago. You were so excited, you had the whole thing plotted out in your head and then forgot to write down the outline?

Me: Yes…?

My Brain: Well I just remembered it. So fucking exciting!! There’s that thing, and the girl, in the place, with the bushel of wheat. You remember?

Me: I do now.

My Brain: You should really get up and write it down.

Me: Now? Seriously? I can’t even keep my eyes open. And I think I put my pajama bottoms on backwards. You want I should get up now?

My Brain: Well, sure. If you don’t, you know you’re not going to like yourself in the morning.

Me: Can’t you just retain that information? It’s only eight hours. How hard could it be?

My Brain: Fuck no. I have other shit to think about. Like, did you remember to take the laundry out of the dryer? Um, no. And you know it’s towels. You know they’re going to smell moldy if you don’t get up now and pull them out.

Me: Oh crap. Why didn’t you mention this six hours ago?

My Brain: Hey, I have more important things to do. Like what number was that poisonous red dye they used to put into candy and shit. And where did I leave the good shovel? And did I just feel a wood tick crawling up my leg?

Me: I have a wood tick crawling up my leg?

My Brain: Maybe.

Me: (feeling around my skin for the little fucking menace) There’s nothing there.

My Brain: Whatever. Now I’m way too worried about my steps. I can’t remember if I plugged my Fitbit in. Hmmm, I should re-read The Martian. Wait, I think I’m hungry…hang on. Nope, just need a drink of water. Fuck, now I have to pee.

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