Sometimes you just have to yield to the inevitable, that sleep is not forthcoming, even at 3:24am...

I mean there's only so long you can lie there, strumming through the shit in your mind and massaging all the nagging pains in your jaw, stiffneckedfoolofaneck, foot or whatever...before you're ready to leap out of bed and run nakedly screaming down the quiet neighborhood block(which really wouldn't do at all since it would merely serve to waken all the good folks who did manage to sleep tonight and, besides, it's perishingly COLD out).

So, of course, here am I, blogging whilst the 'bedtime' tea brews up(mentalornotsomentalsinceIjusttypeditnote-REMEMBER the tea, do NOT burn up pan).

Sam's awful cute when he sleeps. All fluffy-headed and open-mouthed.

I woke out of a nightmare a coupla hours ago:

Started out all innocent and pretty, walking through a parklike neighborhood, wandering trails and beeeautiful forest interspaced with houses. I was carrying two lovely golden glass goblets, one in each hand. The one in my right hand had a broken foot, rough, but not jagged. As I walked, I caressed the break with my fingers, enjoying the texture and feel of it.

Pretty soon, I noticed that the houses were getting fewer and more rustic-looking, not in an aw,in'tthatpicturesque sort of a way, but more in a runforyourlifeifyoucanlittlehippiegirl'causeyoujustenteredredneckvillean'yourlifeain't worthaburraowl'roundhere kinda way.

So, with that creepy sinking feeling, I advanced(any good horror movie heroine knows it's no use being all smartlike and walking AWAY from the danger). Abruptly, a largish man brushed past me, going in the same direction, halfturning as he did so, taking me in at a glance and halting a few long strides ahead of me.

"You OK, young lady?" His voice activated all my warning flares with it's veneer of civility and concern, drooling with lustrous possibilities. My mind flashed on all the terrible things that have happened to foolish girls alone in the woods-if only little Red Riding Hood had listened to her mother!-while measuring the distance between us, taking his age and fitness(older than me yet still hale enough to outdistance me with ease) and the terrain(uphill, rocky, uneven-not a good bet)into account.

Somehow, as I replied that I was fine, tried to distance myself without turning my back on him and judge whether yelling would do any good(not likely in this redneck o' the woods), I also noticed he was dressed like a professor, or even a priest, stodgy-looking suit, white collar. I relaxed slightly, until I saw the goblet he was carrying-large, also gold glass and watched as he deliberately, almost casually, smashed it's cupped end on a rock and now he was coming for me...

Too late, I tried to run, tried to think-could I use my goblets as a weapon too? Could I smash into him, take him by surprise, defeat him? But he was bigger than me by far and already nearly at my throat with the dreadful gleaming yellow points of his broken glass.

"Alright", I said, "Please don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you say." The words choked out of me like rote, my part of the script... He grasped me harsh around the shoulder and glass against my throat, I slowly set my goblets on the forest floor.

I could feel the sting as the sharp edge bit my throat, feel the blood trickle, see his rising fascination... He brought his hand up, curving the daggerlike edges down, down against my breast and I felt sick anger rising, bile strong in the back of my throat.

I slipped my hand up, grasping the edge, not caring if I lost my fingers, astonished as it gave way before me, folding up like origami, like a crystalline fan, collapsing upon itself and falling in a harmless tinkle to the moss.

I ran.

Now there were people around, mostly women with children in strollers and I screamed and yelled for help.

Most of them seemed to think I was nuts, they all knew him, he was just a nice old professor, or priest, a good man, clearly incapable of the evils I was accusing him of.

I ran on...

And woke.

And here I am, and Sam just sat up in his sleep and said: "What the...?" and then rolled over asleep again... I'd better go tuck in with the boy and make like a good little counter of sheep.

At least I remembered my tea this time. No pans were harmed in the making of this post.