I never invite these people, I swear.

When I woke up, I thought the nightmare was over, but it had only just begun. I was under the blankets, and it was dark. I started shoving them around in confusion, trying to surface like some sort of idiot whale that doesn’t know its up from down, and finally came rolling out and onto the ground, gasping. Josh slept through it, bless him.

Fred watched. He always knew the day would come when his owner would decide that tuna at 2am was a GREAT idea, and WHY HADN’T I THOUGHT OF IT BEFORE?!

I went into the kitchen. I skipped the tuna and went for the tea. I boiled the water. I whipped out a teabag. I grabbed the sugar, and something… moved?

It was a bug. A creepy grey bug.

I am usually a tough sort of person who is capable of doing battle with T-Rexes while donning my tight little lesbian hooker outfit.

But weird grey bugs are not on my list of things I can battle.
So I screamed instead.

I screamed a lot.
I actually went and shook Josh awake and said something like, “Holyshitfuckbug.”
“You’re dreaming agian,” he mumbled.
“No I’m not!!!”
“Remember that time you thought there was a rabid bat in the bathroom, and made one hell of a racket attacking what actually turned out to be my swimming trunks hanging up to dry?”
“This is different! It’s a bug. Your swimming trunks can’t take the form of a bug! And they wouldn’t be in the cupboard with my sugar!!!”
“Fine. What do you want me to do about the bug at 2am?”

This was a part I hadn’t thought about. What did I want him to do? There wasn’t a lot he COULD do. Damn.

“Oh, nevermind.”
After sulking in the kitchen for awhile, and checking for bugs (none found), I returned to the bedroom and flopped over.

Then I went back to sleep.
I am just that good.

Day commences.

I don’t generally mind Fred’s acts of enthusiastic affection, but I have issues with his paws on my face. Those paws have claws, man, and I don’t want those claws near my eyes/ears/nose/mouth. What if he has a seizure and whips out his tiny pricks of doom?! He could remove an eye! My eye!

Thankfully, he takes my abusive cat-hurling in good humour, and comes sidling back up to my leg for another go-round. As long as I give him food, I can do anything to that bump of orange, and he pretends to love it.

My husband, on the other hand, needs a bit more than a dish of fancy feast to keep him happy.

“YOU JUST KICKED MY LEG!” he shouts from the bedroom. I am in the kitchen, a safe distance away from any revenge kicking he may have in mind. “GO BACK TO SLEEP!” I shout back. Maybe the next time he wakes up, he’ll have forgotten all about the leg kicking incident.

I don’t ever remember my parents having problems like this. They never shouted at each other, and I doubt my mom ever kicked my dad. I doubt she even exploded into a string explicative, as I am prone to doing. She was much too lady like for any of that. I’m not sure if I’m glad I didn’t take after her, or if I’m sad.

Josh (husband) is probably sad. I kick him in the leg, stomach, or groin at least three times a week. I blame the cat. He blames my atomic waking up habits.

“You are an atomic sleeper, Misty. Why did I not notice this before I decided to spend $3000 on a ring? Every day I sleep with you, I wonder if I will wake up in one piece. Sleeping with you is wrought with PERIL! PERIL!!!”

He says it just like that, too, putting more emphasis on the second PERIL!!!

He’s over dramatic.

I am very sensitive to people making fun of my planet, so I try to leave as few opportunities for fun-making as possible.

I actually do think of me, my life, and everyone that has had the misfortune of being sucked into my life as my planet. I have a very small planet that is possibly a blue-y hue. I’ve never kept a journal in my entire life, but I did keep up a sketch book when I was younger. Drawing pictures of angry teachers sporting fashionable horns and flaming ears is not exactly the same as keeping track of day-to-day life, but I’m hoping that it’s close enough to count as experience.

So I decided to try out blogging. The media loves it. Why shouldn’t I*?

I’m itching to say something classy, like No, I’m not sure why I decided to begin blogging – it just called to me…, but this would be a lie, and we all know that lying on a blog is a sin. So I will tell the truth, instead: I was sitting at the doctor’s office, waiting for it to be my turn to be probed in all sorts of embarrassing and non-pleasurable ways. I picked up a magazine. I saw the words, “Ten reasons to keep a journal.”

It turns out that my mind is a weak bowl of pudding, willing to do whatever a magazine requests of me. Since my mother had recently purchased me a computer** and said, “Get online! Everyone else your age is doing it!”, I figured I’d better twist these two ideas into one. Computer + Journal = Blog.

Not sure how that adds up, but it sounds good, anyway.

I was thinking that maybe I should actually start writing about my day right away, but then I decided that if I was going to let other people read my journal (another interesting concept – my friends always hid their journals between the bed and the wall. PRIVATE, NO ADULTS OR BOYS ALLOWED!), I might as well be nice and write something that sounds a bit like an introduction.

So I did. You just read it, actually. Congratulations.
*Don’t answer that. Please, don’t answer that.
**Yes, I know this is backwards. I should be buying her the computer. But she’s always been more ‘with-it’ than I. Always.