Havin' trouble sleepin'

When I'm in bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the blades on the ceiling fan (one...two...three...four...five. Yup, still five. Same as last night), listening to the BF snore, and watching the clock as the night closes in around me, that's when I do all my deep thinking. Stuff like:
"Oh shit, I never took that orange out of my briefcase. It's been there for almost a month. Ewww. Take care of that tomorrow."

"Hmmm. I wonder if I should cook chicken tomorrow night? I'll have time to marinate it between work and my job interview, but I don't want to cook before I GO to the interview because I will 1. get chicken goo all over my interview clothes and 2. I don't want my stomach to make those weird Jabba-the-Hut digestive sounds while I sit in my interview."

"I wonder what happened to Michael? Actually, no. I don't really."

"How many calories are in a grape?"

"Argh. I left the sheets in the dryer. Fold those tomorrow."

"Will the fact that Hillary Clinton has done such a bad job running her campaign make it harder for qualified women to run for president in the future? Do Hillary's flaws undermine the feminist movement's desire for equality between the sexes by proving misogynistic toads correct about the inability of women to be organized, strong leaders? Or is she simply proving that male and female politicians can be dissembling bastards in equal measure, thereby bolstering the equality argument?"

"I love berry Lucky Charms. Love them. I could probably eat a whole box, a fistful at a time without thinking about it. Picking all of the marshmallows out and eating them in ROYGBIV order, of course."

"I wonder if I have OCD? I wonder if I have OCD? I wonder if I have OCD?" (Ha! I crack myself up.)

Anyway. I really do think all of this stuff. I think of these random products of my feeble brain as a fence that keeps the wolves at bay. I can hear them. In the dark, crying out with the voices I love the most. My mother, my father, my little brother, all cry to me of tragedies that might not ever come to pass. But might, all at the same time. They cry out with the voices of those who never loved me, and who number my sins and fears in perfect rhythm.

The wolves will howl, chickens. But they're quiet for now. So, I will return to my bed, curl up against the man I love, count the ceiling fan blades, and wait for the sun.