Sleep is such an odd thing.
This afternoon, my mom asks me if I feel okay. I seem sort of...blah, she tells me, and wonders what's wrong.
This weekend was an odd blur of typing and runnign around and typing and cooking dinner and typing and taking care of Will and typing and typing. Twenty six tapes, the last two of which were still waiting for me this morning, to type in time to get the letters printed and into the bags before the courier hit the Norwood office today. I'd been without a transcriber for the latter half of last week, which wouldn't have been such a big deal if I hadn't slacked off all last weekend and slept through Will's nap on Wednesday. So my weekend was mostly consumed with acne and keratosis pilaris and basal cell carcinoma, and all of the other scary skin things our doctors dictate letters about for our patients. I may be overwhelmed by trying to do all the typing myself.
Last night, I gave up, went to bed, watched the reruns of Desperate Housewives and Gray's Anatomy rather than type another word. I was too tired, and it was too hot. Around 11:20 or so I finally drifted off into a sticky sleep.
1:21 a.m. Snickers has rearranged his cage so that the noisy bell-filled, piggy-shaped toy is blocking his doorway, half under his igloo. Every time he moves, the bells ring. I drag my sleepy ass out of bed and down the stairs to check on him. The toy goes under the guinea pig cage.
While I'm up, I go in to check on Will. It's still hot, but his fan is on high, and I'm afraid he'll get chilled, so I move his blanket from under his knees and recover his legs, bare in his shorty pirate jammies.
I go back to bed and try to sleep. Eventually, I drift off again.
3:39 a.m. A loud BANG! I lay quiet, waiting to hear any residual noise. There isn't any. I realize it's Will's door, banging in the breeze. His window is open. I sneak back into his room to find the temperature has dropped at least 10 degrees. I close his window, shut off his fan, cover his legs again. Mercifully, he sleeps through.
I crawl back to bed. Kirk turns and mumbles something to me, too far asleep to make much sense. I slide in next to him, arm around his waist, listening to him breathe. If I can't sleep, at least I can be *near* sleep.
Eventually, I must fall asleep again, because suddenly it's 6:45, and I wake to the sound of my mom leaving the house. Heavy-eyed, I shuffle to the bathroom and shower, hoping it will help. The next hour and a half are a blur of typing and retyping. I'm sloppy when I'm sleepy. But the letters are done.
Yep, sleep is a funny thing. Especially when you need some.