I went to bed early last night.
Admittedly I don’t have much of a social life (I vow that’s about to change as I prepare for another play and strike up the “single gals supper club”), but I’ve found it hard to get to sleep at the ideal time of 9 p.m. — my work shift means I should be up 5ish.
So I went to bed early last night, and had a dream. I’m pretty sure the dream was inspired by an episode of “Party Down” where the catering team work a pathetic 20-year high school reunion (thanks, Danielle).
I suddenly developed a crush on the guy who had questionable math skills, but was still elected student council treasurer in our graduating class. Who knew stand up comedy was the key to winning an election?
In any case, I was at my 20-year reunion and I falling fast for the former treasurer with questionable math skills. Then, suddenly, I ripped my nose ring from my face.
Except that part wasn’t a dream.
I floated out of my dream to semi-consciousness, and debated what to do next: interrupt my night of perfect sleep OR wake up and find the half-centimeter-long piece of metal I had just torn from my nose.
I didn’t like the second option but knew if I didn’t do it right then and then, it would be lost in the bedsheets forever.
So keeping my eyes closed I flapped through the covers a bit, running my hands blindly over my tangle of duvets, sheets, comatose dog and pile of pillows.
Somehow I found it, poked it back into my face, and passed out again.
I thought the whole thing was a dream until these evening when I couldn’t figure out why my nose was a bit sore.
My Dad used to say my sister and I couldn’t find our butts if we were looking for them with both hands.
Well guess what Dad? I can find that AND a near-microscopic piece of tin with the lights out, my eyes closed and in the middle of a sleep cycle.