The alien shall shrivel up and die - an incantation

My poor, poor ear.

"I feel for you, but I just can't ever know how it is for you, because I never, ever have a hard time sleeping."

By Extranjera, let out in connection with poor Gringa's sleeping issues

And ladies and gentlemen, as if you hadn't already guessed what happened, this is how I jinxed myself. I should have known better. Universe won't ever let you spout out things like that, and not let you get a taste of what it is that you have never, ever experienced.

It is now 1pm and I just woke up.

I attempted going to sleep at 2am last night, got in a nice 20 minutes, during which I had a weird dream about having to choose between two beautiful young men (one of whom was a doctor), which leads me to believe that since, in my absence, the Hubby has let his beard morph his countenance from a fearless viking warrior to what can only be described as a lecherous amish elder he should maybe rectify that, so that I can start dreaming about him again.

So, although it was an epiphanic 20 minutes of sleep, it didn't do much for me in the way of actual rest.

I kept trying. But something, be it jet lag or the other worldly life form impersonating my right ear, just wouldn't let me drift off.

What? A homegrown alien?

Yes, indeed. As far as the other worldly being attached to my scull goes, I am now on antibiotics because of a case of perichondritis and the alien should, according to the science of medicine, shrivel up and go away in a week (But what does medicine really know about aliens, I ask you?). I know there is a moral to this story and it might have something to do with 'doing your homework before showing up for class', but I think I'll still just go with 'stop and smell the roses', because I like that one better and that's just the way that I roll.

That, and antibiotics.

Thank Zeus for antibiotics.

At 5am, after having turned on the light three times in order to take note of my insightful thoughts (delirium, in the light of day), I started panicking about the alien and its motives. Would it want to kill me, or just mangle my ear? I decided that since I wasn't sleeping anyway I might as well get up and clean the infected piercing with alcohol and hopefully aid in the extermination of all things not of this world.

Turns out, I don't come in peace.

And that rubbing alcohol on a piercing gone very bad does not for a peaceful sleep make. Or peaceful anything.

After having quietly screamed into my fist for a good 10 minutes I ventured into bed again, right after making note into the notebook on my bedside table, of my serious intent to write an entire post about Hubby's propensity, while sleeping, to breathe through his nose, which obviously wasn't put on his face for that purpose since the air has a really hard time passing through it and consequently makes the man rattle purr in his sleep like a broken tram a sweet kitten. Which makes it very hard for other people to fall asleep.

Delirium, I tell you.

Finally, it was time for the kitten to leave for work and leave me to attempt to rest the top of my head on the pillow and consequently sleep in a part handstand, part half nelson like manner. Which, oddly enough I eventually succeeded in doing, only to wake up at 1pm with my arms completely numb and with creases on my forehead I'm not sure will ever go away, to frantic phone calls from the Hubby who had gotten himself into a frenzy over the alien and wanted to ferry me off to a hospital to get the being surgically removed.

I thought it best to get up and write instead.  

I'm pretty sure I feel better now.

Maybe.