Something sucked the life out of me. My guts feel hollow. I think they are gone.
I’m lying in bed with the kids because they are being difficult, and it is bedtime, and I don’t have guts, and therefore I don’t have any energy. They have a lovely view of the sky. It would be absolutely brilliant if there was a full moon right now, but instead I have one bright star. I’ll take it.
It has been a daisies in a dump truck kind of day. Interpret that as you will.
Hamie the Hamster is making strange noises. I had no idea about the monster noises Hamie the Hamster makes at night. Thank god it’s not a full moon. My son got him for his fifth birthday, and somehow we adopted the most brilliant hamster in existence. He never bites anyone, and he sits in my hand patiently, twitching his adorable little rodent nose, rustling his delicate whiskers, and blinking his all-knowing black orb eyes. Just petting his velvety fur while he pushes those little paper ears back makes me very happy. I don’t ever want to go without a rodent in my house again. I may have just cursed myself. I meant in a cage.
The remains of a monster.
It has been a busy day. Earlier in the day I had guts. I found my biggest fossilized shark tooth, and right there on the beach in the wet sand, about to be swept back to where it came from. My son and I have already had a couple discussions about the probable size of the prehistoric creature it belonged to. I told him it was the length of our dining room. I’m full of crap, but that’s the beauty of parenting. The kids believe whatever you say.
I also found a few more lovely pieces of sea glass. Ninety-five percent of my sea glass collection is broken brown beer bottles. The ocean really knows how to take a negative and make it a positive. Thank goodness for beer drinkers. Without them I’d have so little to collect.
The Quadruple B's: Broken Brown Beer Bottles.
I just crept out of bed because I think he might be using his wheel. This brilliant hamster is self-conscious—he never lets me catch him exercising. I’ve been trying to sneak up on Hamie the Hamster for the last week, tiptoeing around my house when I hear a funny squeak, only to find he's tricked me. He is either smarter than me, and/or has better night vision. All I could see was his form on the wheel, still as a mouse hamster, his all-knowing black orb eyes staring back at me. Silly human, I’m not a circus animal.
I’m back in bed now. Just me, sleeping kids, and the monster noises of a hamster. And the bright star.
Spending sleepless hours staring at a starry sky seems like prime time to spot a UFO. But not now, I’m going to have to lay here for another six hours or so—sometime around 4AM it’s bound to happen. But why would I want to see a UFO? I don’t have any figurative guts. I can’t handle a UFO sighting right now. I’d better go to sleep.