Can’t sleep.  Been trying since 11:30.  Here’s what happened:

• Put myself to bed at 11:30 with a new book–“San Miguel” by T. C. Boyle.  It’s OK, but the first 50 pages are mostly howling winds, the incessant bleating of 4000 sheep, a woman with a consumptive cough, and a pretty heavy sense of foreboding.  I put it down and turned off the light at 12:15, giggling to myself that it was really early thanks to the time change and I didn’t have to set an alarm because it’s spring break.
• Woke up at 12:30.  Bright moon shining in the window, too hot in my room.  So I did a load of laundry, changed the sheets, sorted a few more piles of stuff.  Still wasn’t feeling tired but didn’t want to go back to the sheep bleating.  A different book–that’s it!  I downloaded the third in Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series–“Voyager.”  Just the ticket.  Read from 1:20-1:45.  Turned off the light and tried to think about the wilds of Scotland.  Nope.  Tried to make a list from A-Z of places I’d like to visit.  Nope.  
• Back up at 2:00.  Switch the laundry.  Step out on the deck to enjoy the cool air and Jinx the cat mewls her way up the steps.  I open the door for her before I realize why she sounds funny.  Yep, she had a mouse in her mouth.  Now there’s a mouse in the house.  I shut the cats, the dog and the mouse in the den and wish them all well.
• I consider taking a Benadryl to get drowsy, but G had mentioned at dinner that taking Benadryl on a regular basis as a sleep aid causes cognitive impairment.  Yep, this is what we talk about at dinner.  You would think I would be BORED enough to sleep.  I only take one about once a week but I convince myself that this is a “habit.”
• 2:15, to hell with it.  I get a Benadryl but drop it under the bed.  Dig it out and swallow it anyway–first sign of cognitive impairment would be that I eat anything that has touched this floor. 
• 2:20…speaking of floor, I go back to the kitchen and clean up that mess that Carlos made when he painted the floor with a couple of blackberries.  I begin to think that I might be one of those women who could really get it ALL DONE if I quit sleeping.  Martha Stewart only sleeps 3-4 hours a night and it seems to be working pretty well for her.  Except for that prison stint, but she used that time to knit.
• 2:30.  The dog is lying in the middle of the floor with his nose pointed under the love seat, so I assume that’s where the mouse is hiding out.  I open the door to the deck and consider getting the broom to chase the mouse outside, but G is zonked out on the couch where he fell asleep three hours earlier watching Law & Order.  The sound of me opening the door rouses him enough that he opens his eyes and looks right at me.  I shrug and say, “Can’t sleep.”  He grunts, “G’night” and rolls over.  It’s good to feel understood.  
• I like when the numbers on the clock line up, so I’m going to call 2:34 lucky.  Got the ceiling fan on, the window cracked, the blinds shut, the cats on mouse duty, lavender lotion on my feet, a Breathe Right strip on my nose, Benadryl working its way into my brain pan.  Surely this will work..right?  
• Oh, for pity’s sake…now I’m hungry.