Bugged

I know that I'm crazy.

Let me clarify that, I now know that I'm crazy. I wasn't fully aware of this fact until my "Yankee" ways were exposed to the harsh light of southern country living, but now that I know, I accept it... kind of.

However, I'm pretty sure that hallucinations are not part of my regular level of insanity. I'm also fairly certain, that I'm not having nicotine withdrawal hallucinations, because those would have kicked in much earlier than 24 hours shy of two weeks. Nor do I think I am having sleep deprivation hallucinations, because to my knowledge, you don't get those while you're sleeping and have them wake you up...

So it stands to reason, that I'm up after ninety minutes of sleep, posting and waiting for coffee to brew because I really did feel something crawl up my leg and what the bleepedybleepbleepbleep was that?!?!? O. M. G!

I kicked the covers off of myself and the bed, jumped up like a ninja and perused the bed in the dark to the best of my ability, but there was nothing there. Aside from a slight shift in position and what could only be categorized as a caveman-like grunt from hubby, he thought himself the only other occupant in the bed and was content to let me freak out alone so long as I didn't disturb him too mightily. bastard!

I did my rational-human-being impression and tried to lay back down... without my covers, because I was taking no chances, but my eyes refused to shut. Instead, the mutinous orbs thought they were Malcolm McDowell's stunt double in A Clockwork Orange during the brainwashing scene. Besides, now, aside from feeling naked without my covers; I felt 'buggy'.

Damn I hate that feeling. Like whatever bug that gave you the shivers is now crawling somewhere on your body. Since I originally felt the offensive whateverthehellyouareyouneedtogethebleepoffofme on my leg, I was feeling particularly 'buggy' on my feet. After more delusional ninja antics, I ascertained that there was still nothing there, but by then, I was done for. There was no way in living hell I was going to be able to fall back asleep.

Even if I did manage to crazy-glue my eyelids shut, my brain would convince me that the mystery-guest would be along the sides of the mattress, waiting maniacally for me to let my guard down . And with each internal retelling the thing would evolve from a June-bug no larger than my pinky-nail to a Texas-sized roach to a tarantula large enough to swallow a raccoon whole. And the 'buggy'-ness would expand it's creepy-crawly-range to the back of my thigh, then my back, then my face until I spazzed sufficiently enough to not only wake up hubby, but to have him call for back-up from the men in little white coats.

Because, somehow in a maneuver that defied logic and all common sense whatsoever, a completely bug-phobic woman moved to Texas. A place where half the bugs make residents say, "Holy HELL that thing is HUGE!" and the other half makes them say, "Holy HELL, WHAT IS that thing?!?"... especially when you take a picture of it and have it waiting to show them the second they hit the front porch, before they can even utter the words, "hello dear."... just, you know, as an example *totallyinnocentlookandnotmewhistle*

But, no such thing as that going on this morning. Just me alone in my 'buggy'-ness and my exhausted-scared-awake state. I can't even go out for a smoke to calm my nerves, cause I don't do that anymore. Which, in this instance sucks. Cause, what am I supposed to do to take the edge off? I've quit every stinkin' edge-blurring habit I've ever owned, except for cheesecake, but I'm totally out of cheesecake, cause I didn't know to plan for a non-existent-bug-freak-out-incident.

Guess I'm getting kicked out of the Eagle Scouts for poor planning... which is fine if they'll tell me how to de-bugify before they hand me my walking papers and a parting piece of cheesecake...