ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

I’m so tired right now; I can’t even begin to convey it to you.  Well, OK.  I suppose technically that was a beginning of trying to convey it to you.  But seriously, I’m so tired it’s not even funny.  I’ve been sitting here at my desk at work for…zzzzzzzzzz Oh sorry.  I’ve been sitting here at my desk for nearly three hours and I must have dozed offfzzzzzz… Uh, I must’ve dozed off thirty times.  For reals, yo!

I have a whole stack of work sitting next to me that needs to be accomplished, and I could honestly occupy myself for at least three days with honest to God work I was honest to God hired to do as opposed to hours on end of Twitter and Blog reading in between zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-ing, of course. But the work?  It requires my attention, and seriously people, I got none to give.

And it doesn’t make any sense, because honestly?  I get home from work in the evening and I AM WIDE AWAKE.  Really.  I can spend an hour and forty minutes doing an hours worth of Wii Fit exercise (math is my strong suit) and then take a shower, and cook dinner and sit down and watch all kinds of trashy television for a couple hours and won’t be ready to go to sleep until, like midnight or 3:30 in the morning… OK, not really 3:30.  But really I don’t remember the last time I got to bed before midnight.  And I blame my boss, because some how it is all his fault.  I’m not sure how yet, but when I’ve got that worked out I’ll get back to you.

I’ve mentioned before that I have an elderly cat.  Mischa is 17 years old which according to the chart at the vet’s office makes him roughly 86 in cat years.  Eighty-Six, people!  Both of my Grandmother’s were dead by 86.  And at 86 my Grandfather was crapping his pants and handing his car keys to a prison inmate trustee, requesting the inmate to bring his car around to the front gate (true story.)

Twice in six months, I’ve had to take said cat to the vet because he’s randomly stopped eating and started barfing and getting listless and pathetic looking.  Both times they’ve attributed his behavior to dehydration, given him a saline bubble and sent us on our way.  Both times he’s improved quickly and we moved on.  I don’t know why he’d be getting dehydrated though as I leave him plenty of fresh water every morning and the outrageously expensive, prescription food he eats now is half water on it’s own. The point is, Mischa is old and his health is waning and I know we don’t have a whole lot of time left and I want to make the most of the time we do.  For the better part of the last 6 years, Mischa has not been allowed in my bedroom because he has a habit of pooping on the floor (or peeing on my bed – but only when I’m not around.)  He still isn’t allowed in my room when I’m not there, but due to his advanced age and my desire to make the most of the time we have left I’ve begun allowing him in my room at night again…  For now.

It’s been about two weeks and no less than 5 nights have I been awakened to find Mischa’s butt in my face while he stands on the edge of my bed and reaches out to “rearrange” the items on my night stand.  The only thing I can figure is that he’s paid closer attention than I have to the “sleep experts”.   You know the ones?  The ones that tell you to go to bed and wake up at the same time every night, even on the week-ends?  The ones that tell you to use your bed for nothing but sleep and sex?  The ones that tell you to keep your bedroom cool and dark so that your sleep will be sounder?  You know the ones?  Yeah, me neither.

I don’t really listen to them either.  I use my bed only for sleep and se– Well, for sleep. But I don’t go to bed and wake up at the same time every day, and I am most comfortable with some ambient light in the room.  Therefore, I have an alarm clock that projects the time (and the outdoor temperature) on the ceiling (why I need to know the outdoor temperature in the middle of the night I do not know) and has a nice bright, back-lit, LCD display on the front.

I’m assuming Mischa is not in favor of the brightly lit display and feels that he needs to dispense with it somehow.  Four of the aforementioned five nights, the ones I mentioned… afore… I have awakened to the sound of things… scooting? on top of my night stand.  Apparently, the sleep deprivation has caught up with me because I didn’t hear it last night.

I didn’t feel the cat creeping past me on the mattress as he assumed the position, ass in face, paw outstretched to begin his work.  I didn’t hear the slight nudging of the clock.  I didn’t hear or feel anything, until a quarter till five when I heard a crash, and felt the cat LAUNCH HIMSELF off of my bed and run out the door.

Instantly wide awake, I sat up to find out what had happened only to find the alarm clock was missing and face down on the floor between the bed and the nightstand.

Apparently, while taking his copious notes about proper sleep procedures, he failed to take into account that once I actually am asleep, I NEED TO STAY THAT WAY!!!

And then he barfed in the middle of my bedroom floor.