I had high hopes for Saturday night. I planned on getting up early so I could have Skype Coffee with one of the Best Friends, Interrupted who now lives in the midwest. Please note that I almost made it to seven hours.

But just when I was settling in with my coffee Sunday morning I made a call alright: to 911. Seems Grandpa, Interrupted (Dad, Interrupted emeritus?) has mistaken the ambulance for an Uber service and so off we went.

Spoiler Alert: at this point in time on Monday night, it appears that GI may come home tomorrow. His blood pressure is a little wonky, but we have high hopes.

But we didn’t know that Sunday afternoon, spent at the very lovely (and I say that sincerely) Chandler Regional Medical Center. I stumbled home a zombie just in time to lie on the couch in a zombie state while one of the Sons, Interrupted hung out with his grandfather.

And while I was conscious enough to watch the game and delight in the comeuppance of those dabbin’ Panthers, I was not conscious enough to string together some thoughts on Saturday night’s sleep.

I apologize.

You’d think I’d fall dead asleep after a day like that, but at midnight Sunday night/Monday morning my eyes were stubbornly wide open, resulting in the very limited sleep time you see posted above.

I’m about to make up for that now. You’ll excuse me while I get some shut eye.

What the heck is she doing now?

© E. Stocking Evans 2016