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Thursday is my favorite day of the week.  It has been since I was a little girl.  My baby brother was born on a Thursday, the trash man came on Thursday (it fascinated me so much to watch the auto arm that my teacher would let me sit on the steps of our portable when the trash man did the houses across the street ... yeah I was in a special class for smart kids), my daughter was born on Thursday, and now Thursday is good TV night.

Around 7 last night I decided to take a bath ... this is an expensive process because I'm addicted to LUSH.  I thought "Hmm, tonight I'll take a Lavender bath" so that way I'd feel relaxed and snuggly and ready to curl up and watch good TV on NBC.  So I begin to run the water, crumble half of a "French Kiss" in for movie star bubbles, then I step in and wash my hair with my Seanick Shampoo bar (it doesn't have a strong smell, the lavender would overpower it), washed with my "Oh La La" soap, rinsed with my removable shower head, grabbed a "Waving Not Drowning" bath bomb, tossed that in, then laid back on my pillow and let that soften my skin.

Heaven!  Finally I stepped out, put on my robe, and then threw my dog in the bath.  He's weird, really likes it, and keeps sniffing himself and running around all excited afterwards.  Bonus he smells like lavender.

After my bath I watched 3 hours of what I think was the best good night TV in a while.  Every show had me cracking up, well ER had it's drama.  Then I was ready for bed.

Grab the dog, toss him up (my bed is WAY too high for him to even think about jumping up), reach over for my nightly pills, pop them with some water, then lay my head on the pillow.

Then realization hit me.  I'd taken the wrong pills, or did I?  It's such a habit to grab a bottle, shake the dosage into my hand and then toss them back that I just kind of go on auto-drive when I do it.  So I thought for a minute ... "Shit, yeah I did just grab my morning bottle and pop two"  IDIOT, IDIOT, IDIOT!  Morning bottle is anti-depressant that gets me going in the morning and helps me suppress my lackadaisic type 7 personality.

I contemplated grabbing the nightly panic pill and taking that ... but then I didn't want to mix an upper with a downer.  So I fell asleep, eventually.  But it was the sleep of a speed freak.  Sleep sleep sleep sleep WIDE AWAKE!  Sleep sleep sleep sleep WIDE AWAKE!  and I shit you not, my dreams were in fast forward.

One of my dreams was like I was watching a commercial on television.  There are all these kids running around laughing and playing at a playground.  A mom is peek-a-booing around a corner at what looked like a 3 year old who giggled hysterically.  Then the camera panned out and some voice over said something like "Do you really know what's going on?  Help clean up our playgrounds" and you see that at the top of the play thing is one of those half bubbles kids look out of, it's full of white smoke, and there's this crack head trying to give himself the biggest hit of his life.

Suddenly I was the crack head, then I was a person sitting close to the crack head asking someone else if that amount of crank could make his heart stop.  Then he inhales and I feel my heart thud, he falls forward into the bubble.  I wake up.

Um, okay ... sleep sleep sleep WIDE AWAKE!  My dog is running to the edge of the bed, leaps to the floor then stands by the door.  I figure he must have to go, which is rare so early (the sun was just coming up).  So I jump up, open my bedroom door and he runs towards the kitchen (the direction his litter box is in), but only makes it to the dining room before he stops and starts heaving then barfs.  Eww.  He looks at me like "Mom, are you mad?"  I grab a sponge and say to him "Poor Igby!"  He slinks toward his bed in the kitchen (thinking he's in trouble still), gets into the kitchen and upchucks again.  Then he crawls to his bed and lays down.  I wipe up the next spot with a sponge and then squat next to him, scratch his back and say "It's okay Igby, poor baby, you don't feel good"

Then I head back toward my room, he being the loyal mamma's boy that he is, follows, so I grab his blanket and lay it by my bedroom door incase he needs to barf again (he'll just go barf on his blanket, never in my bed ... yeah, we've been through this before, he probably ate cat poo again).  He lays on it, I head to the bed, he follows, I help him up, he curls up next to me and sleeps.  He was really hot, but cooled down after a bit.  Poor thing.

I laid there, wide awake, but I'm a creature of habit and won't get out of bed until I absolutely have to.  I must have fallen asleep because Igby stirred and I woke up.  Then I just laid there and thought until the alarm finally went off.

Not wanting to come down in the middle of the day I took just one of my morning pills, and after my cup of coffee I'm spinning!!!  But also smiling like the Cheshire Cat.