Nothing Good Ever Happens at 4 AM (even if it is 5 o’clock somewhere)

I seem to have developed a pattern of awakening around 3:45 every morning.  Often, it’s because I have to use the bathroom.  But sometimes it’s because my inner critic wants to wake me up so she can torture me.  Apparently, she doesn’t sleep at all because she shows up in my dreams too.  But I digress.

So, most mornings I go to the bathroom with eyes closed trying not think about anything except how I’m going to go right back to sleep.  But once the torture begins by the dreaded inner critic there is really no way out. Most times I grab the iPad (I know that’s a mortal sin but, it’s the truth) and access twitter.  After all it is only 1am in LA and I follow people there.  So, I read some fun things, catch up, and convince myself that I will only do it for 15 minutes.  An hour later I begin to yawn and I turn to a meditation app to try to get back to sleep.

I love meditation as a tool to overcome demons.  The inner critic is tougher than most but she can be controlled.  I have some favorites in meditation and they typically help me move back to the bedroom and settle in.  Trouble is I sometimes stay asleep until 7 or 8 after these sessions with 3am mediations and then I lose my morning routine.  But I have another blog about oversleeping that is going to be worth the wait. (Trust me)

So, this one night I wake up at 3:45 and with eyes closed I put my feet on the floor, consider for half a second how sleepy I am and that I may actually go right back to sleep after my bathroom break.  I drag to and from the bathroom.  I am so happy.  I am not going to grab the IPad.  I am not even going to need to meditate.  I am completely sluggish and home free.  Sleep will come quickly I’m sure.  Then suddenly my eyes shoot open wide and for a second, I wonder what is that?  And there it is, mushy between my toes, right there at the side of the bed, and even with my eyes closed and the sluggish head on my shoulders, I know exactly what has happened.  My Lucy, the most precious thing on 4 legs, has left me a present.  And it wasn’t a tinkle…it was way more than that. 

Now what do I do?  I have this stuff in my toes, standing on the rug, still basically asleep and a husband who is not only going to keep snoring but won’t find this to be cause enough to get out of bed to help.  So, I hop back to the bathroom in the dark (mistake) and begin to pray that it is vomit and it won’t be brown when I turn on the bathroom light.  On goes the light and…it’s BROWN!  Yuck and what the hell???

I don’t know what the hell to do so I grab a towel and begin to get the literal crap out from between my toes and then I go back to the bedroom to scoop the squishy stuff up.  It’s still dark in the bedroom but I turned on the light in the adjacent room so just enough light is shedding in that I can see the little darling laying in her cushy, high priced bed sleeping like an angel.  Hubby is snoring away and I don’t even think to turn on the bedroom light so I don’t disturb them.  (only one disturbed here is me because he would have turned on the light and screamed for help.  After 41 years of marriage, I know exactly what he would do). 

I hop back into the bathroom because well, even though I wiped off my foot I have been in the dark for the most part.  Now back to the light drenched – and brightly lit – bathroom and into the tub go my feet.  The water is cold at first…so cold…but I wash anyway.  I have poop on my foot for Christ sake.  I let the water run to hot – enough to stand it – and wash again.  But I wash with my hands because I don’t want poop on my wash cloths!  Now, I don’t have any towels laying around in the bathroom because I used the only one that was in there when I came hopping in the first time.  

I hop to the linen closet in the middle room (called such because it’s in the middle of the bedroom and the bathroom) and grab a towel to dry off my feet.  Then I saunter, wide awake, back into the bedroom (yes, they are both still asleep.  No, I haven’t turned the light on in there) and spray Carpet Resolve into the rug next to my bed where the deed was done.  I find another dirty towel in the laundry basket and scrub (still in the dark) at the rug in hopes I’m getting it all.  Frankly, I knew I was getting it all because the light in the adjoining room was still on and casting enough bright to see. 

I went through the process of taking a shower and washing my feet again using a clean towel this time to dry off and then I headed back to bed.  I had been so happy that my body clock seemed to be in sync with me before the squishy dog poop incident started.  But now, I’m wide awake.

I climbed back into bed but all I could think about was the poop.  I put my headphones in and turned on a get-back-to-sleep-after-waking-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night meditation.  In case you are wondering, there isn’t one for get back to sleep after stepping in dog poop at 4am meditation, I looked.  I even searched Google and whoever that woman is who answers your google questions seems to know everything.

I drifted off to sleep again and stayed asleep until 7am which is about 30 minutes past my preferred time.  Then I got up and went on about my business like nothing ever happened. 

But I think you would agree after reading this missive that nothing good ever happens at 4am.

Lucy in her designer bed. She almost looks sorry. Content, but sorry.

I Don’t Care…If Gray Is In My Hair

I don’t care if gray is in my hair.  This new discovery came quite by surprise.  I’ve been watching in the  mirror for weeks now concerned that the truth is coming out.  I’m not a warm hazelnut brunette.  The pandemic that is keeping me from my beloved every 4-5 week journey to the salon, is also allowing me to see how very long it takes the gray to bother me.  It’s been almost 3 months, and I’m still not bothered.

The reality is that everyone is showing their gray, regardless of age.  Gray is almost my new favorite color.  As people show up on zoom calls and make apologies for “bad hair days,” I revel at the obvious…they all have gray hair!  Because I was concerned that people would see me as old, or older, I feared the worse when I missed one, then two, then three salon appointments. Heck, there are 30-somethings who have more gray hair than me.

I’m not making a bold statement here about my plans for the future of my timeless tresses, but I will say that as of today (repeat today) I am not in a hurry to rush out to the salon for a color treatment – whenever the allowable time arrives.  I’m good for now, thank you.

Now, about the cut (ugh)!