We’ve all been there: staring at the clock, doing the exhausted math. If I close my eyes this exact second, I can squeeze out five hours. It’s a desperate calculation, and it’s usually the first step into a long night of sleep-deprived chaos.
Last night, that was my reality. No sooner did I settle in than my throat decided it was the perfect time for a tickle. Not a normal tickle, but the kind that demands a cough every five minutes, making sleep an impossible game of tag.
Just as my brain finally started to surrender to the void, the dog decided she needed a midnight excursion. Fine. But of course, she wasn't just doing her business; she returned in full "clingy" mode, refusing to go back to her crate. Desperate not to wake my husband—who, like everyone else in this house, is a gamer who definitely needs his rest—I retreated to the couch.
I’m sure you know the "couch shuffle." No matter how you position yourself, it’s never quite right. Then, just as I was drifting off again, the silence was shattered by a door opening and slamming shut. I popped up to check on my oldest, only to find him frozen in the hallway because I’d turned all the lights off and he was spooked.
Two hours of "rest" gone. By then, the math had changed: now I was down to three hours.
Those final three hours? They were a masterclass in misery. Without a proper pillow, I resorted to bundling up blankets to cradle my head, tossing and turning while that persistent drainage made sure my throat stayed agitated. I ended up chugging an entire 40oz of water just to keep it quiet, which—naturally—meant I spent the rest of the morning feeling like I was going to burst.
And now? The alarm has gone off. It’s time for a "fun-filled" day starting with work, followed by a trip to the doctor, and ending with a Whatnot show. I’m hoping for a shower and a real bed by tonight, just so I can wake up and do it all over again.
(Note the heavy, heavy sarcasm).
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