The time is 3:52 am, and my brain is crawling out of my skull.
I cannot sleep.
I cannot lay still.
I cannot stop scratching. (Remember, Black Spot Poison Ivy Dermatitis girl, here.)
All of which I could handle if my mind wasn’t flip-flopping around like a goldfish on the kitchen floor.
Would somebody, please, either plop me back in my bowl or just flush me?
Um, thank you?
The Mess on the Kitchen Floor