Late, late, late

Why do I do this to myself? I know tomorrow will be a busy day but nevertheless, after spending the afternoon and evening at a fun Super Bowl party where I discovered Tequila Lime Chicken Wings, I have stayed up way beyond my bedtime playing Bookworm. I’ve reached the level of Publisher Emeritus and my eyes are crossing.


I have always burned the candle at both ends. I long ago lost the ability to sleep in late in the morning so if I go to bed after midnight, I still wake up at six a.m. I used to take naps in the afternoon, but those have gone the way of the long drowsy mornings. So right now, blathering away, I am virtually guaranteeing that I won’t be at my best tomorrow. But I don’t sleep well, tired or not. I almost dread bedtime because I know I might not do much more than doze. The other night, I had a long and complicated dream in which I had Dr. House wrapped around my finger. All his poison was neutralized by me. So there I was, wisecracking with television’s most annoying M.D. when I should have been deeply asleep. It’s no wonder I’d rather play Bookworm or Word Threads or Word Warp or whatever. I draw the line at Words With Friends. I played it for a year and never won a game, not a single game.


Diva the Doberman has just put her black head on my knee. She guards us all night long and doesn’t approve of late nights. I shall obey. Goodnight to all.

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