I slept four hours last night. Four measly hours. My sporadic and enraging insomnia kept me up until 2 am. My heating pad betrayed me by not lulling me in to a peaceful sleep. My cat didn't work. Neither did getting up and trying to read websites onto which I was too exhausted to focus my gritty eyeballs.
I attempted to eat but was too nauseated by fatigue. I took two Benadryl. I concentrated on deep breathing. It was all futile.
To further aggravate matters, I've been reading The Queen's Fool before bed, which is a total guilty pleasure, not even the sort of thing I usually take to, and all the thoughts running through my mind came in a British, 1500s tongue.
Fie! Pray I am able to rest before it is time to break my fast.
If only my lord would stop snoring...methinks I should rise and drink a tankard of mead to help my slumber.
It was not a merry eventide.
And I'll leave you with this. It sits on a roadside near our house. Any guesses as to the significance of its placement? Because I have none.