Kitchen Jogging, Magic Johnson and the ATF

Lawsy ya'll. I had a rough night last night. I'm plumb tuckered this morning.

I woke up around 3 a.m., out of a deep sleep, for no apparent reason. I tossed and turned and flipped and flopped, finally settling down and getting comfy, almost drifting back to sleep, when Sammy started scratching. He sits in the hallway just outside my bedroom door and scratches, snarfs and chews all over himself. It drives me stark raving mad. I yelled at him, looked for something harmless to throw and tried to coax him back to the foot of the bed.

Nothing worked.

When I'd reached my limit, I got up headed for the hall. The plan was to drag him back in to my room, until I remembered that he lost his collar about a week ago.

Ever try to catch a collarless dog at 3 a.m.?

He bolted for the kitchen, then tormented me by running around the kitchen table, alternately changing directions and making me downright dizzy. I started pulling some of the defensive moves I learned while playing forward for my junior high basketball team (Brewbaker Academy.. Go Rebels!) Sammy was acting so weird. Then I noticed.. he looked sort of.. afraid.

Did I forget to mention that I sleep in the buff? Like.. butt nekkid?

That's right, I was chasing my poor Boston Baked Beagle around the kitchen table, at 3 a.m., doing my best Magic Johnson impression, nekkid as a jaybird.

No wonder he was askeered!

He finally ran to the back door, offering to go outside. When Yoda heard the door open, he appeared magically at my feet. Yoda suffers from a severe case of "me too" syndrome. So out they went and I meandered over to the computer to check my stats. I had to wait for them to come back in anyway. The Chihuahuaranian took a sudden barking fit and since it was, after all, the middle of the night, I had to get him to come back in. So there I stood at the back door, in my birthday suit, whispering loudly for him to get his furry little ass back inside, praying to the Lord Almighty that none of the neighbors were out milling around.

I eventually made it back to bed, with Sammy at my heels. Just as I started to doze off, the Amazon's alarm went off.

Great. Just great.

It was probably around 4:30 when I finally drifted back to sleep. I get up between 6:30 and 7:00, depending on how many times I hit the snooze button. Those two hours were just long enough for me to have the weirdest dream I've had in a very long time.

We were living in a big, old house like the one that my granny and her mother before her lived in, where our trailer now sits. There's a knock at the door. It's the ATF.

It's a raid.

There were like 30 gun wielding mother effers in blue windbreakers and ball caps running through the house, ripping things apart, confiscating computers.. it was nuts! I was trying to call work to tell them I couldn't come in because.. well.. we were being raided, but my cell phone wouldn't work. Somehow, Lulu ended up there, bringing me a giant roasted chicken sandwich from Boston Market. (We do not have a Boston Market anywhere near here. I have never been in a Boston Market. I have no idea why in the name of all that's holy I'd dream about Lulu bringing food from Boston Market.)

I'm tired ya'll.

Is it 5 o'clock yet?