Reset Forty-Nine, Day Seventy

No nap Tuesday, and if I were standing up I could say I'm dead on my feet, but I stand up very little anymore, so I have to say I'm dead on my butt. It's apt, too, as I keep nodding off and yawning, and I'm getting cricks in my neck and cramps in my jaw and my butt is actually going to sleep without me! That's really the ultimate betrayal. My own ass doesn't give a rat's ass about me. It would indulge itself in a nap and leave me to fend buttlessly for myself.

I've been trying to think of a bedtime snack to have, but nothing comes to mind. I'd make a slice of toast, but I forgot to put the butter out to soften, and I hate to try to spread hard butter on toast, and I like dry toast even less. Had I thought of it earlier I might have fried a potato, but now I'm too sleepy and fear I'd nod off in front of a pan of hot grease and precipitate a disaster. I'll probably just end up eating an extra square of my usual bedtime chocolate again.

Last night I kept thinking of chocolate cream pie, and tonight I keep thinking of fresh casaba melon. I haven't seen one in years. I'll probably never see another. I can't say I approve of the grocery industry any longer. But then neither do I approve of myself. Maybe when I sleep I'll dream of being someone else. Someone who grows casaba melons perhaps. Too bad I won't remember if I do.