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Cold feet warm bed

November 25, 2006

Dreaming loudly laying in my quiet bed warm under feathers, blankets, sheets and a wool cap I hear a tiny congested voice call the name I have grown to loathe. The covers flip back in one movement and my body is instantly cold and chattery. Shuffeling in the dark to escort the young one to the potty because she has to poop. I sit beside her and rub her nose with my nose waiting for her to finish and trying to disguise my irratation at the interuptiion of my sleep. She is zipped and ready to go back to sleep. I wonder how long it will last as she can see the tinest bit of first light peaking through her window. Commands are issued to sleep and to be quiet. I rush back to my bed, our bed and am already thinking of how warm and nice my bed is. The bed and sleep are like past aquaintances I knew and greatly admired but now may only fantasize about how fabulous they are. Sleep is like the celebrity status I will never attain, the thin body I may never have again and the money I will never make.

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