I've misplaced my ability to sleep. I know it's here somewhere, buried under the downy comfort of new bedding or hiding patiently under the two feather pillows and two firm cotton ones, all four of which I need to sleep. I just can't find it.
When I do find something that comforts or calms my mind enough to allow me a brief respite into sleep, I dream disturbing things that tend to revolve around sports figures. Thus far, I've dreamt of Wallace Gilberry, Donovan McNabb, Darren McFadden, Matt Jones and Michael Vick. With the exceptions of Matt and Darren, they were all in completely separate dreams. Let me tell you, nothing is more disturbing than Donovan McNabb in drag running down the interstate and preventing you from passing him.
I've decided the entire process of sleeping is unnecessary and useless in my case. I'll just be that girl with the bags under her eyes and the slurred speech from here on out.
That combination should land me a husband right quick.