who cares about ghosts when you have wine?
Sleep…I’m beginning to think it’s a myth. Oh sure, I’ve nodded off over the past few days. Several times, in fact. Usually while writing my blog, or riding in the car. But once night falls and I close my eyes to sleep in my bed, something inevitably wakes me up.
The real question is, what?
Mike took a huge flashlight and a mobile video camera into the basement last night. He determined (after creeping around in the scariest basement I’ve ever seen outside of a horror movie) our ghost must surely be rats. Or a raccoon. Or possibly an oppossum. And as far as I know, possums are hardly supernatural. But, honestly, I’m not sure what’s worse. I think it might be easier to call in an exorcist to get rid of a ghost. Getting rid of furry rodents tends to be a little more complicated than that. You certainly need your wits about you if you’re going to try.
So, tonight I decided sleep would not fail me…no matter what extreme measures might be in order. I may have had to unpack eight boxes to find it, but wine was, without a doubt, on the menu for tonight.
Two glasses later, I think I might be ready to hit the sack. Let’s just hope it doesn’t hit back.
Until the next time…I’ll be grabbing at least forty winks for a change.