Dance of the Shameless

(*Author's note:  Total shout out to my friend Amanda... She demonstrated to me once how the Walk of Shame can be morphed into the Dance of the Shameless.  Since I tend to be rather shameless myself, I've been practicing.  Turns out, I'm a natural.  I am ready to do competitive Shameless Dancing in the Olympics.)


The alarm went off at 7 this morning and I floated out of bed, so bright eyed and bushy tailed that squirrels and bluebirds perched on my shoulders and sang a happy song.


"Tra la la la laaaaaa!"  I sang.


"Tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet!" they whistled back.    


I greeted the sunshine and all the little woodland creatures that sew my clothes and help me with my chores, then skipped into the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot and pack up Dan's lunch.   


"How did YOU sleep last night," he asked me, as he grumped through his bowl of cereal and prepared to go to work.


"Faaaabulousssss!" I trilled, and kissed him good-bye, slapped his ass, and sent him out the door.


Okay, confession time:  I'm in such an obnoxiously well-rested state because, you guessed it:  I broke down and gave Ambien a booty-call.  


I couldn't take it anymore, you see.  Lying awake night after night, listening to Dan snore, hearing all the night time sounds, counting how many thumps it takes Mr. Awesome to turn his most recent skank into a devoutly religious woman of prayer ("Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God!"), entertaining myself by getting up to pee every 15 minutes... I was pretty much over it.  My days were spent in a state of such complete exhaustion that every obstacle was met with an emotional breakdown.  I was crying so much that I was getting wrinkles around my eyes.  (Oh, honey... NO!)  I spent so much time crying while I was talking to Dan that he quit asking me what was wrong.  (He just accepted that his wife was losing her mind and apparently, he was okay with that.)  


After a complete breakdown on July 2, which involved me screaming hysterically into a stranger's voicemail (oops... thought I was calling Dan.  He was camping with his parents and I took that time to become unglued.  I couldn't figure out why he wasn't calling me back. Sorry, whoever has a cell # in upstate NY that ends with 8995.  I'm sure you're not the slime shit that comes out of a snail's ass OR a pathetic little mama's boy.  Mea culpa ) I decided enough was enough was enough, already.... And, with Dan's enthusiastic encouragement, I phoned in my refill.  


(Me:  *defiantly*  "I can't take it anymore.  I'm getting my Ambien refilled."
Dan:  *excitedly*  "Good!"
Me:   *menacingly*  "What do you mean, "Good"?
Dan:   *confusedly* "Ummmm...."
Me:   *threateningly*  "What are you implying here, motherfucker?"
Dan:   *backpeddling rapidly*  "Ummmm.... that maybe you've been in a slightly bad mood?"
Me:   *snarlingly*  "Uh huh... uh huh... And you don't think that's even partly your fault?"
Dan:  *nodding in agreement*  "No no, you're right... it's all my fault.  You don't need Ambien.  You need me to stop being a jerk."
Me:  *homicidally*  "What do you mean I don't need Ambien?")


Lack of sleep makes me just a little bit irrational, apparently.  


Lo and behold, my Ambien arrived and I could barely wait for bedtime.  Oh, to sleep, to dream... I don't care if it makes me fat or causes me to shave my head in the middle of the night, Ambien is my soul mate, my one true love...


I slept like the dead last night.


I don't even think I woke up to pee.  (Totally unheard of, but if I did get up to pee, I don't remember it.  I do know that I didn't stay in bed and pee, so that's something.)


Welcome back, dear Ambien.  Let us never be apart again.