It is 6:04 in the a.m. and I have been up for almost two hours. That doesn't count the hour I tossed and turned before giving in to my insomnia.
The Kid is snoring. His head hits the pillow, his eyes close and he is asleep. A state he manages to maintain for at least ten hours. I find it rather annoying and more than a little unfair.
There is a silver lining. It is Monday and soon, very soon, an army of garbage trucks will rumble across the bridge and down our street where one will come to a screeching halt at the end of our drive. Gears will grind as the trash can is lifted; its contents emptied in a chorus of breaking glass; then unceremoniously slammed back to earth. The process will be repeated, screech, crash, bang again and again before the behemoth moves on to its next victim. It is impossible for anyone living and breathing to sleep through it, even The Kid.
I knew if I tried hard enough I could find the joy.