Last night, I heard coughing. It sounded like it was coming from beneath me.*
*[No, of course not. The Hub wasn’t even home. Get your mind out of that gutter.]
I sat up, stumbled out of bed and straight into what the dog had just thrown up.**
**[Yes, of course the Hub was in another city. It’s one of his superpowers. When someone at our house barfs, he’s usually in another city. Often another country. Frequently, another hemisphere…]
My children are grown. My grandchildren have their own parents on whom to barf. So what karmic imbalance dictates that I’m still being roused in the middle of the night?
I actually used to think I was a night person. I thought it was a sign of a healthy, normal adult to stay up into the wee small hours and wake up the next morning feeling…
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