I know that I am supposed to be posting a pregnancy story today, according to my theme schedule. And I am up to Bun, which is an illustrative story with a happy ending. But you know what? I don’t got it, internets.
Last night, I did go out with my grade-school friend M. We had drinks and a great dinner with many other people, and it took about three hours. Then at 10 p.m., I went to a very smoky bar and saw a band (and had a couple beers). We did not get home until midnight. Snoring commenced, and I’ve no idea how long it took me to get to sleep, how long I slept, and how many times I changed locations trying to get into a refreshing sleep. Plus, Bun and Monkey picked this morning to NOT sleep well, and I was up with them.
I have not slept a successive three hours this entire weekend. I don’t know why. Possibly the alcohol consumption — I am used to one drink a night, occasionally two, and this weekend, from Thursday on, has seen me consume more along the lines of four to five a night. I’m such a lush in a social setting. It could be the snoring. It could be simply sleeping in unfamiliar places — in the basement (on a blow-up mattress), in my parents’ room (with my mom; my dad took on the basement since he had to get up at 6:30 a.m. for work). It could be my old friend insomnia. Whatever it is, I am utterly beat, and the idea of actually trying to string together a narrative is beyond my scope.
So I will try to tell you this story instead:
As I have mentioned, the whole fam damily was here for Thanksgiving. My older nephews know how to whistle, and they like to show off their skills. Plus there is a dog in the house, with my sister.
Last night, Monkey was sitting at the kitchen table with Pap-pap and my sister K, and she wanted to give the dog a cracker. So she leaned over and called, “Buddy!” Then she said, “Whoo-ooeet” in a high-pitched voice. She looked at Pap-pap and K and said, “I don’t know how to whistle yet.”