It's late, late, late. Sleep is being that naughty child, drawing nearer ... nearer ... nearer ... close enough that my fingertips brush it ... then skipping away, giggling, ever just out of reach. I've given up. I'll just go about my business, pretend to ignore it. Soon enough it'll get tired of the game and come to me on its own.
Oh, go to bed, for chrissakes.
Posted by: Davey | January 31, 2004 at 08:17 AM
That brat was at my house the night before. I got sick of his games so I sent him to yours. Sorry!
Posted by: Jodi | January 31, 2004 at 08:44 AM
I always wondered how my mother manged to run a household on three or four hours of sleep.It took almost 50 years to find out, but now I know.What I don't know is why sleeping is never a problem for me when it is time to get up!
Posted by: Jean | February 02, 2004 at 07:40 PM