I was really exhausted last night.  That good kind of tired when bed feels like a soft, billowy cloud waiting to drift you off to happy sleepy-bye land!  I think I was out five minutes after my head hit the pillow.

Woke up once… saw that it was 4:45 am, scoffed at the idea of getting up and went right back to sleep.

Woke up again at 6:30.  Could… barely… move…

I was laying on my back and needed to roll over onto my side to get out of bed.  After much difficulty, I managed to heft my frame into position.  Then, I nearly fell off the edge of the bed.  I was able to right myself, however, and swung my legs over the edge and — with a grunt — pulled myself into a sitting position using my Hugo.

I sat there for a second to make sure I was capable of going further.  When I was sure I was, I positioned the Hugo in front of my feet, grabbed the handles and rose to my feet.  I walked over, got my nightgown, and rolled out through the bedroom door to the gaggle of excited doggies, glad to see that Daddy was awake and had not died during the night.

Gail had been up for a few minutes, and the dogs had been freshly yarded.  Shiloh, for a short while after pooping, thinks she’s just the sassiest thing in the world, so she thought she’d have some FUN with Daddy making his way down the hallway with his walker.  She refused to move.  I bumped her with Hugo.  She barked at me, took a few steps and froze again.  We repeated this action until I was in the living room.  (This is the same dog who is actively trying to kill me by, at least twice a day, throwing a ball right in front of my feet as I walk.)

Came to the kitchen, kissed my wife, took my pills, made cappuccino.  Now the pills and caffeine are doing their work and I’m feeling more mobile.  My good dog, the neurotic border collie is laying at my feet as I write this.  My other dog, the psychotic German shepherd, is nowhere to be seen… possibly plotting new ways to kill me.

And so it goes.