I woke up around 3 AM last night and had such trouble trying to fall back to sleep. Then I started thinking about how much trouble I was having getting back to sleep and that made it worse. But sometime around 4:30 I was able to fall back to sleep.
And I was in the World Cup, playing for the United States. And oh look there I was with the ball on my boot, the rest of the unknown-to-me’s team out of the picture. Just me and the goal. The enormous soccer net. And I take the shot. Hit the post. The ball bounces back to me and I kick it and it sits there on the goal line, but finally I strike it true and it is in the back of the net.
Then I score again. And I realize that I’ve just become legendary. Like, people in the world will be talking about me for years to come. I had made it. And just as that euphoria swept over me, my youngest woke me up. At 5:50 AM, which I suppose is my punishment for going to bed at a decent hour to allow my body some rest, that I already had not gotten.
I rarely dream, or I rarely have dreams my mind decides are important enough to remember. I usually dream of such things as eating a ham sandwich or doing my taxes, so it annoys me when I miss out on a good one. My kid is lucky he’s so cute.
So, last week was pretty much a wash. A wasted seven days. Youngest got sick in the middle of the night Monday. Oldest got sick in the middle of the night on Wednesday. I did not “get sick”, but felt nauseated from Wednesday to this Monday. So, that’s where I’ve been.
Anyhow, I feel better today, thanks.