It used to be once. Then it was twice. Now it's three times a night.
That's how many times I am getting up at night lately and I hate it.
I've tried going to bed early; I've tried going to bed late. I've done the pills. I've tried it pissed, with wheat sacks and without and I still can't capture that illusive thing of Legend - sleep untroubled by pain or spasticity, jerks (Sperm Donor got dumped by the Buffet Bird btw) or writhing snakes (oh yeah, we are anticipating Simon to ring and stalk H once more when she turns 18 in a couple of weeks like he did on her 16th birthday, he reckoned he could wait until she was an adult and was no longer "under my thumb" enough to stop him).
Never mind, at least lately there has been a glorious moon cascading across my bed to
Magic, eh.
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