I didn't sleep last night.
Not 'I didn't sleep well.' I did not freaking close my eyes all night long.
First, I hit a groove with a writing project about 11:30 and worked on that til 1:30am. Then, when I tried to go to bed, my brain would not turn off. It bubbled like a putrid a stew of fear and worry and fretting. By 2:30, I gave up and went back to work. Before I knew it, it was 5:00 am and too late to try to sleep--a new day is upon me.
Saturday night I dreamed I'd borrowed a UPS truck and hit a car with it. I drove off without reporting the accident or calling for help. For hours on Sunday morning, I couldn't shake a strange sense of unease and serious disappointment with myself.
On the way home from my brother's house Sunday night, I brushed my hair off my neck and felt one of those damn whiskers I write too much about. Feeling around, it seemed to me I had practically a full beard. Seriously, I grabbed a sandwich from a drive-through on the way home because I didn't want to go in anywhere with all that hair on my face.
Monday morning I brought out my strongest glasses, my five times magnifying mirror, and my super-duper tweezers. Couldn't find a thing in the bathroom mirror. Brought my gear out to the sunroom windows and found two barely-there dark hairs. Two!
Perhaps...just maybe...I could be over-reacting to things a bit.
Maybe some sleep would help.