Flirting with the 'Fly (One last time.)

I know I said it was over with the 'fly (as in Lunesta). You'll recall my entry (or was it entries?) about my unconscious post-midnight ramblings under the influence.

And it really is still over. Except that last night I realized, quite late, that I was out of my natural herbal sleep supplement, Melatonin. Did I mention it was late? And there, on my nightstand still, now covered in a thin layer of dust, was the 'fly.

I popped the lid open. Only two left. I glanced around furtively. FurGirl seemed to shrug.

It was late (I may have mentioned that already). I was tired and I didn't want any dithering around about getting to sleep. I need my rest (I said). I need my rest, damnit (I said again, but with a little more force).

I downed the next-to-last 'fly pill, donned my favorite flannel gown, and tucked into my gently pre-heated bed. The dog snored quietly on her special rug in the floor next to me. By the time I queued up season six of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" on my DVD player, I was already feeling drowsy.

Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout...

I remember saying to myself as I drifted off.

I'm estimating that last conscious thought happened at about 12:30 a.m.

I didn't have another conscious thought again until 10:30 a.m. And that next thought was,

"What the hell...?"

I woke up to the slow realization that I was tenderly cradling something in my arms. It was something square and made of cardboard and I was also pressing my cheek lovingly against it.

That something turned out to be a box of zesty cheddar flavored Cheez-It crackers.

As my foggy brain continued to swim slowly to the surface of consciousness, I next realized I myself was nestled in a prickly bed of Cheez It crumbs.

And it was right about then that I had the worst realization of all. And that realization was the distinct feeling of (sweet Jesus!)...wetness.

Fully awake now, I threw back the covers with a gasp scaring the dog into premature consciousness, FurGirl let out a startled yelp, as my thrown off covers revealed an overturned diet coke near my hip, slowly gurgling its remaining contents right onto me, my high quality sheets, and, presumably, into my Simmons Beautyrest.

I leapt from the bed in a shower of cheez-it crumbs, tripped over my dazed, confused and still startled dog (Mommy is generally NOT a quick mover in the morning) screeching expletives all the way. Down. Boom.

I came up quickly, however, determined to save my matress from any more of a sticky fate than was already inevitable. I grabbed up the Coke can, and stripped the bedclothes and matress cover off in one fell swoop. As luck would have it, only a small stain of diet Coke had seeped through. And a few spritzes from my trusty bottle of Shout took care of that.

All in all, it could have been a lot worse.

So, I say to you once again? This time? It's REALLY over between me and the 'fly.

(If I'm lyin' I'm dyin'.)