Stream of Unconsciousness
I'm going through a pretty severe insomnia phase and, of course, I'm all out of Ambien. Thanks to the wonders of mail-order pharmacies and tight-fisted insurance companies they won't even begin to process my refill until the 15th. Give it another week for processing and shipping and I'm looking at three more weeks of no sleep. I'm getting about 3 or 4 hours a night, so it's not a total loss. But it's not enough and it's catching up to me.

I'm getting into that phase where the sillies take over. Everything is vaguely hilarious. I feel almost drunk because I'm so goofy and, occasionally, light headed. I kind of like it. Like getting high without all that nasty breaking the law crap. It's actually quite fun, in a completely unhealthy, entirely dysfunctional way. I smile a lot. I'm giddy. God help us, I sing. Today I found myself in the middle of kitten duty singing the theme to "The Muppet Show" to a kitten, only to look up and see the other volunteers staring at me in bemused horror and moving their chairs back ever so slightly. Luckily the kittens didn't seem to mind it. But that self-censoring chip, never very effective in my case anyway, is practically non-existent. Poor Husband. There's no telling what I might do if he takes me out in public this weekend. (Which he will...Giants game on the 4th. Yay!) I don't mean I'm going to rip my shirt off and yell "Do me, Lincecum!" Because, well, eww. But I do tend to say things without thinking even when I do get enough sleep.

Hell, when he introduced me to his boss a few months ago the first thing I said to him was "Hi, do I have to kiss your ass?" I mean what kind of woman says that to her husband's boss? Oh yeah, me.

I don't know how he puts up with me.