Unshockingly Not Sleeping

It’s probably not escaped your attention, if you’ve been here any length of time at all, that I have two problems.   For one thing, I’m a horrific insomniac and spend many days dragging ass as a result of the many nights I toss, turn, post blogs, toss some more, and tear my hair out.    For a second thing, I have by and far the most inconveniently overactive imagination.   When those two traits conspire against me at the same time, well, it can get pretty ugly over here in Whoville.   (Am I the Grinch?  Not yet, but if I don’t sleep soon, you never can tell to what I may resort.)

And so it comes about that I sit here awake, and since I happen to be sporting the Mother of All Crushes Wholly Unbecoming A Woman My Age (MoACWUAWMW), guess what that imagination is doing to me?   I have no reason in the world to suspect that He is going to ask me what I’m doing this weekend, and after I rattle off the list of stuff I have planned, and He notices that I have nothing going on this Friday, He of course asks me to go bowling.    And since this is a figment of my imagination, and not at all anything like reality, I quickly reply “Sure; that sounds fun,” before I truly understand what’s happening, and then I stammer out, “Um, oh, wait, um, is this a date?”    In reality, if this happened to me I would most likely be wondering in my own head what it meant, arguing with myself, and finally deciding to assume that it’s not a date, because nothing that much like a romantic-comedy plot-line would ever actually happen to me.    Of course, then I would proceed to lose lots of sleep over it.    Anyway, I digress, because in my imagination, he laughs at me, and then says, “Yes, of course it’s a date.”

And in my imagination, I respond with a simple “oh good” and then blush deeply.   But not the kind of blush I do in real life, but more like that super-endearing anime princess kind of way.

And, then I giggle of course, and it doesn’t sound like a gerbil being squeezed to death at all, and no one gawks at me or asks me if I’m dying or faking.   (What?  It’s my fantasy.    Give me this one, OK?)

So, all of that seems lovely, doesn’t it?  But not enough to keep me up all night, right?   Well, of course not, but once we’ve agreed to go on a date, then I have to imagine what I would wear, and how I would tame my hair.   And then there’s all the conversations that I can’t stop myself from imagining happening.

Then it occurs to me that the least I could do is get a blog post out of this.   If I’m going to be awake, that is, I might as well be doing something with the fairy-tale in my head, right?  Right?

And maybe, just maybe, if I could just get some sleep, I might not scare the crap out of my Object of Crush looking like a crazy woman with the bags under the eyes and what-not.

Just sayin’.

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