It's 6:00 am on a Sunday morning, and I can't sleep. It's a new thing my brain's been doing. Rather than let me sleep in on the weekends, it has my eyelids flying open anywhere between 4:00 and 6:00 am. I'm still tired, my body is loose and warm and stretchy, but I end up staring into the dark and thinking and thinking and thinking. Did I really dream about cleaning the basket in the teapot? If this persistent canker sore in my mouth is actually cancer, will they have to cut out a major portion out of my lip and leave my teeth hanging out for public view all the time? If that's not one of the cats licking my toes, should I scream? It doesn't take long to figure out that it's best to give up on sleeping and wander over here to do the clickety-click. Such is my dedication.

But what's this? Is it Maggie Mason's No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog? It is! Thank the lard, because I was sending requests up into my frontal lobe and receiving the following message back: What? No. We don't do that until well after ten.

I flipped open Maggie's book and wandered through it for a while until I settled on idea number thirty-six, "Swallow Your Pride". That, I can do. The idea was aimed at outing the more embarrassing times from your younger life, like that time I had a Little Orphan Annie perm for three years but would slick the sides back with mousse because I liked the 1950s greaser look, but I saw myself in the mirror just a few moments ago, and goddamnit if my head isn't some great material all on its own right now. So, I give you my head, circa earlier this morning:

I look crazy for you. See? This is the bug-eyed stranglehold of love.
My eyes will do the googly dance, and joy shall be ours. *

* That caption is the pre-coffee product of an early-morning brain. Nothing more.

A Bath, A Stream, And The Loss Of Safe Water