I can still feel the tears on my eyelashes.
I
really hope it’s not surgery.
Not
again.
I
found a second grey hair last week.
When
my first alarm goes off in the morning, I hit the snooze button. Frank rolls over and wraps his arms around me
so that we can cuddle for ten minutes until my second alarm goes off.
I
have never—not one single day in my adult life that I can recall—woken up
rested, refreshed, and/or ready to face the day. It doesn’t matter how much sleep I get, I
don’t want to wake up.
Frank
is still in bed 25 minutes later, when I’m ready to walk out the door.
I
crawl across the covers, snuggle up next to him and ask, “What time are you
getting up?”
“I
dunno,” he answers groggily.
“Do
you have to work today?”
“I
worked extra hours all week so I’m off today.”
“Oho,
jerk! Then you’re driving tonight.”
* * *
