No Freaking Rest for the Wicked

no sleepOkay so I’ve been sick with this cold, upper-respiratory, and sinus crap for a month. To say I’ve not been sleeping well is an understatement. But, now that I have some antibiotics, I was really, really looking forward to a good night’s rest (and hopefully sleeping late). So much so, that the hubby and I went to bed around 9:00 (yep, 9:00, on a Friday night) to get that good night’s sleep. Ha ha, silly me, what was I thinking? Oh yeah, did I mention we decided to sleep with the windows open because of the unseasonably warm weather? Here’s how the night went:

10:15 pm: Our little canine diva rouses me from my peaceful, albeit short, rest because she needs to go outside, again. At least I think that’s what she was saying. The saucy little bitch never communicates clearly. Anywho, I get up (mainly because my adorable husband is sawing logs and hasn’t so much as bobbled in his rhythm of sucking all the air from the room and whistling as he blows it back out). So, I let the dog out. She goes tearing from the door and runs around the house like she’s after something. Who knows? The dog is nuts. After about 15 minutes, she cuts a meandering path back to the house, stopping to smell of two trees, a bush, and a rock because, you know, she has all the time in the freaking world.

11:00ish: I start hearing the most unnatural and disturbing sound. It honestly sounds like one of the neighborhood kids is getting murdered (which is not an altogether unpleasant thought—don’t judge me). I lie there listening for a few minutes trying to decide what I’m hearing—“okay, it’s not a kid. Is it a bird? God, I don’t know. Well, it sure ain’t a cow or horse doing that kind of screeching.” After much thought and getting up from the bed to listen at the window, I was sure I had it. “It’s a goat. It has to be. So now what? Is it a baby goat (is it a kid after all)? Is it a momma goat? Are coyotes attacking or something?”

11:30 pm: The hubby finally breaks his peaceful slumber to get up and pee. By then, the bleating had become less frequent. As he crawls back into bed, I ask him to listen, but we only hear the strange screaming sound two more times. Then it stops all together. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says. Easy for him to say.

12:30 am: I’m still lying there trying to figure out what could have been happening to that poor little goat to make it cry like that. I consider getting up and walking through the woods, down through the creek, and up to the place where I think the goat must have been. But that’s just stupid. I mean, I’d have to get up, find my good waterproof boots (you know, so I could walk through the creek), etc … You get the point right? My brain was in overdrive.

1:45 am: This is the last time I remember looking at the clock. At some point, thank God, I finally fell asleep.

7:00 am: “Bam, bam, bam. Get up everybody, get up! Na, na, na, get up, get up.” I’m startled awake to this catchy little tune. My husband says, “What the hell is that?” Once I realize what I’m hearing, I get up and go to the window opposite the goat fiasco. There, across the street, are two kids (human ones) running around the neighbor’s yard, singing their little get up song, and banging a stick against a trashcan lid. To beat all, those kids don’t even live there. That’s their grandpa’s house. I answer my husband’s question. “Well, babe, it seems Bob’s grandkids want the whole damn neighborhood to get up [name changed to protect Bob—even if his grandkids are little asshats].”

So now, I can’t go back to sleep. I’m up at 7:15 writing a blog post to keep from marching across the street and choking out two kids (human ones). I’ve learned three valuable lessons from last night and this morning’s festivities: 1) never sleep with the windows open when you want a good night’s sleep, 2) keep your waterproof boots beside the bed just in case, 3) it’s a good idea to invest in a tranquilizer dart gun—preferably one with a pretty long range.