Dom Cobb Would Shoot Me in the Face

My brain wouldn't shut up last night. It kept me awake for a large portion of the evening with inane worries about money/financial instability and then it would switch to scenarios that it would get all excited. One minute it was all "OMG, what if The Wiff can't find a job (the Wiff went and got herself laid off last month [hee! I like phrasing it that way, as if she had any control at all over the situation. Thanks, Corporate America])?! OMG, what if I get laid off too? Oh Em Gee!" Then all lickety-split it'd veer over to "Hey! I know! We should totally get that race team idea off the ground! I think we can make a run for the 24 Hours of Lemons next year if we work on getting a team together". WTF brain? Shutup so's we can all get some sleep. I like to think of my body parts (yes, even those parts...mmrrRRoOOooowwwrrr!) yelling at the brain to clam up.

No matter what I tried as a diversion to get myself to stop trying to solve all the world's problems from my side of the bed it was no use.

"Why is our economy based on whether or not I take advantage of the sales at Best Buy? That seems insane. You know what we should do?" No brain, I don't, and therefore by default, neither do you. Go to sleep. "Yea, but..." Yea but nothing. Go to sleep. "It's just that I was thinking about the taillight on the Jetta. We need to get that replacement bulb. Oh, and the mailbox needs to be mounted on the front of the house. Plus, we should totally paint the trim around the back door. Heh. 'trim'...heh, 'backdoor'" Oh god, really? Look, we're not doing ANY of that stuff now cuz it's 2 in the goddamn morning. Go. To. Sleep. "Why does Obama compromise on everything? Even things that seem to be his base principles?" There is no way I'm discussing politics with you now. Seriously. Look, I'm sorry I made you take that nap earlier today but we're old and naps are lovely. "No, I'm just sayin'. I still like the guy and all it's just that ... I dunno" Again, I know you don't know. I'm you remember? Shut the fuck up. "Is that Molly the cat on our feet? Can you get her to move or something cuz that's going to be super distracting for me." Fine. Cat has been moved and is now angrily patrolling the foot of the bed. Satisfied? Sheesh. "Oh man, that's SO much better. Thanks! Oh hey! Remember that theme song from The Streets of San Francisco? Do you mind if I hum that for the next 3 hours? Awesome!"

My brain is trying to kill me.