Gosh, I should not have talked about my sleepless nights with Sheba. It brought bad luck. Here we are again on the Midnight Express. There was something bad in the air this evening. It gave me the shivers listening to Donald Trump. Then there was the image of Harvey Winestein pushing his walker and the fires in Australia. Half a billion wild life lost! The world feels foul. No wonder Sheba and I are disturbed. We can feel it all.
We have both taken our melatonins. I hope that will rock us to sleep soon. No use in fretting. I can do something useful in the meantime. Might as well tap a few words for day 6 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. Sheba has settled on her pillow. My eyelids are getting heavy. I wonder if she will let me go to bed. Oops! She’s up again. Maybe I will just pull out the comforter and bunk down here. I’ll be optimistic and say, be back in the morning.
It is Monday afternoon. My optimism last night was lost but not completely. The dog was not cooperative in allowing me to sleep. After farting around trying to be productive and not making too much noise, I got fed up with Sheba. I was tired and getting a headache. It was 2 am. I read her the riot act, turned out the light and went to bed. Much to my surprise, it worked. She hung back, then tiptoed into the bedroom and plunk herself on her bed. She was quiet the rest of the night.
I did get some shut eye, maybe 4 hours. It was not a restful sleep. It’s better than none. Nothing is perfect. True life never runs smooth. We’re still on track, clickety clack. Around and around we went. Though it is a bit blustery we made 2 rounds at the park. We’re both full of vim and vinegar. Surprising isn’t it, considering our lack of sleep and our advanced ages. Must be something in the air. I hope the fresh air and exercise will zonk us out tonight.
We I must bolster ourselves myself. I must build up my reserve so that I’m not so easily influenced by the news or whatever in in the air. It makes life ever so much harder feeling and succumbing to every little thing. Time to grow up. I think I have – a little. I’m carrying on as usual. I’m bitching a little. I’m feeling a little crabby. But I’m not crying ‘poor me’.