Upon rounding the bend in my block, I slowed my recreational jog when approached by a pink tongue and black, hopeful eyes. Panting, I yanked at my ear buds and crouched, my knee rubbing against the cement. A tiny, stray yorkshire terrier tip-toed up to me, smiling, and so very lost.
"Aww, come here, sweetie. Do you have a collar?" I asked while scooping up its small frame. We locked gazes as the puppy alarmingly looked straight into my soul. I felt something wet on my pinky finger as I realized that he had graced me with a trace of his tinkle juice. I was now his.
I continued walking around the block, holding my tiny-legged master, when I found a woman that recognized him. Regretfully, I handed over the small pup in one hand, and telepathically communicated that I would miss him and his adorable, little feet-paws. Then, off I ran to Jason Derulo's Talk Dirty To Me.
If I had gone running earlier as planned, we would not have crossed paths. I had prioritized cartoons on the couch and decided to exercise later in the day out of pathetic exhaustion. I did not sleep well last night. Or any night before that, really.
I dread the night time like a small child, terrified of monsters, burglars, or any other types of ghoulies. I am approaching 22 years of age, and still routinely check my closet before I flick the light switch. When I first run and jump into my bed, the initial panic drips down my body. Every hair on my skin becomes aware, as my eyes dart back in forth in vain. I usually lay on my back, with my arms to my sides or my fingers intertwined and neatly folded over my upper abdomen. My toes stiffly point upward, and my brain starts to quickly think of all of the most terrifying things that I have ever seen or heard about in my entire life.
What if I turn to my closet and a static image of ghostly girl in an 1800's-styled dress is staring back at me, her head cocked to one side?
What if I stare out into the blackness of my hallway, only to see a cloaked figure pacing with a lantern?
What if I look into my mirror, and see a distorted, twitching face staring back at me?
Is that a noise at the front door? Someone is breaking in. I have to make it to the attic. (One of my escape plans. Because for some reason I feel like closing myself in my creepy attic will help during a break in)
I'm not even scared of aliens, but wouldn't it be so messed up if one from 1996 Mars Attacks! showed up at the foot of my bed right now?
The thoughts go on, I twitch and turn. If I happen to fall asleep, my persistent, miniature bladder will hastily wake me up. The challenge of walking to the bathroom at 3:00am ensues, and then I am forced to start all over again.
I am not embarrassed by my nightly panic, but obviously rather troubled. When I am asleep for an extended period of time, I have vivid dreams, and grind my teeth until my jaw squeaks in the morning. Therefore, I never feel rested, and go through many days like a cute slug with a bow. My mind is active, and my emotions wired to the quiet dark around me.
(I often wear pink triangle dresses to sleep)
I would not say that I have insomnia, or am I trying to glamorize having trouble sleeping, tweeting like:
@iluvstarbuckz Why am I still awake at 2:00am? #foreverteamnosleep
@stardancer200 Uggghhh I can never sleep anymore! Thank gawd for my boyfriend, Netflix!
***if those are your Twitter handles, I apologize. I give you permission to poke me in the eye.***
Furthermore, in an effort to think of pleasantries before bedtime, I will probably watch The Dark Crystal and the Neverending Story trilogy, while simultaneously wondering what became of my puppy companion.