Erica Lucke Dean

"Making the world a better place, one book at a time."

what do an old house, dog drool, and Brad Pitt have in common?

I had a good day.  Mike and I drove to the mountains to take in the scenery and wander around the antique shops.  With no particular goal and for no particular reason. 

It was nice.  We hadn’t spent a quiet day together in weeks and I think it did us good. It also reawakened our dream of building a house in the mountains. Or possibly buying an old house and restoring it.

This idea was sparked by the discovery of a 1930’s farmhouse for sale in the country.  Our adventurous spirits drove us to pull into the overgrown driveway and wander up to the front door to peer in the windows.  While we were trespassing on the amazing property, the groundskeeper drove up and offered to let us inside.  Of course we agreed, and for the next half hour we roamed through the scariest old farm house I’ve ever been in.  And trust me…I’ve spent a lot of time in scary old farm houses over the years. 

Suffice it to say, it was way too far gone to even consider renovating.  Oh well, so much for my kitchen plans…at least for now.  I’ll have to search the internet for a pretend house to renovate in my dreams tonight. 

That is if I sleep at all…

As I lay awake last night, it occurred to me why I don’t get much sleep…and no, it’s not because I’m a vampire…although that does seem to be a popular perception. My problem with sleep, or rather lack of sleep, seems to stem from a series of factors.

This is how my night goes…

2 am.  After writing, surfing the net, and reading blogs, I switch off the laptop and the light.  The second my head sinks into the pillow, dog breath steams up my eyelids.  Indiana Jones, the mastiff was sleeping on the couch when I came to bed, but now that I’m comfortable, he wants attention.  I pet him for several minutes and he lies down on the floor below me…but since he has drooled on my sheets, I have to get a towel to put over the wet spot.

Finally, he is snoring again, but now I have to use the bathroom.  I creep by him, trying not to wake the sleeping giant.  After flushing as quietly as possible and climbing back in the bed, the cat runs across the room and Indy barks and gives chase.  After a few tense minutes, and the sounds of furniture moving around, the house gets quiet again and I am tricked into thinking it’s safe to go to sleep.  As soon as my head hits the pillow, I hear a giant paw scratch on the back door.  After a rousing game of “chase the cat” the dog has to pee.  

I try to grab a few winks while the dog searches for squirrels and opossums in the yard, but just as I’m about to drift off, Indy pushes the door open and brings the cool fall night air with him. 

I close and lock the back door and climb into bed, hoping Indy has worn himself out and will now sleep until at least noon.

As I nestle into the down comforter, my son knocks on door to tell me he has decided what he wants for Christmas.

At almost 3 am.

I send him back to bed promising to discuss it in the daytime and drift off to sleep. 

Then dog finds the shoes my husband left out.  And a new deodorant.  And a stick I was sure I threw out the back door hours ago. After I take all the “toys” away from him, he settles down in his very own down blanket to snore. 

Finally, I can fall asleep.

And I would have, but my husband wakes up coughing.  Like his lungs are going to come flying out.  After a hacking spell that seems like it will never end, he goes to sleep again.

Then the toilet makes a gurgling sound like something is climbing out.  I’m fairly certain nothing is climbing out of the toilet, but I feel I must investigate.  I flush the toilet three times just to be sure and climb back in bed.

I don’t know what time it is, but I’m pretty sure my alarm will be going off in just a few hours.  I calculate how many hours I will get if I fall asleep right now.  Then I add thirty minutes just in case I can’t fall asleep right away.  Then I check the alarm again to be sure I set it. 

Then I think of something that would make a really funny blog post tomorrow, so I send myself an email on my phone so I won’t forget it. 

Then I put my head back into the pillow and drift off to sleep.  And I dream I’m chasing after the dog to take a pair of shoes out of his mouth.

Why can’t I ever dream about Brad Pitt?

Until the next time…I’ll be dreaming of an old house renovation.

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