Fatiguée

Oh wow am I tired. It's been two days of windy windy riding (I took a rest day in between them, but it didn't exactly make me feel rested), and I feel like I've ridden 40 miles today instead of 20. Lordy.

It was fun as hell, don't get me wrong. I growled at the wind coming over the bridge. I gripped the bars like I was holding a shotgun and hurled myself bodily at the headwind.

And I made it just fine, and then flopped down on a stool, and ordered a macchiato purely by giving the coffeeman a look. I love that. He looks a question; I look an answer; two minutes later there is a strong, gorgeous little cup of coffee in front of me. Delightful.

Really, I could have wished for a nap in a glass, but you do what you can.

So here I am, at home, and it's too late to have more coffee, even though I'd dearly love some. I made soup. It's yummy. I ate some things. And some other things. And still more things. And somehow it all made me even sleepier, and yet I know when I finally get in bed, I won't be able to sleep.

Why?

Well, apart from my inherently nocturnal disposition, I've been highly sleep-resistant lately, due to being incredibly, incredibly distracted by thoughts of a particular boy. Let's call him Thing One, shall we?

I try to sleep and all I can think about it is what I'd do to Thing One, were he at that moment (or any moment) next to me.

And then, when I give myself leave to just dwell and fantasize and go crazy over it, Thing Two intrudes, because, you know, I kissed him the other night.

And then, as if that weren't enough, I start thinking about Blondie (you remember Blondie, right?), who tends to come up in my head for the simple and powerful reason that he's the best kisser I ever had. Sigh.

Upon hearing about the little carnival that is my head lately, my friend Miz Fury says it sounds like a circus. And then, because this is how my brain works, I think, hmmmn. Maybe I should just recruit myself a little harem.

And you wonder why I need all that exercise?