It occurs to me that my post titles are not nearly descriptive or eye-catching enough. It’s nothing new. Historically, titles have not been my strong suit. When I first started this blog on Xanga, I didn’t even use them. I don’t know why not, since there’s a whole field especially for writing a title, and it seems odd that I would just leave it blank, like it was okay. Perhaps I have changed, just a little. But not enough to write good titles. I sometimes think about what I might like to have on my gravestone. Perhaps it should be “Untitled.”

Do you remember that old Peanuts comic where Linus is “aware of his tongue”? If you don’t remember it, it’s probably because you are not a connoisseur of Peanuts comics, for it is a classic. You can find it in the Peanuts Treasury. I highly recommend you buy a copy because Peanuts really did used to be that funny. Anyway, I digress. But not really. I start to digress, but I stop–for I was just about to say that in the same manner that Linus was aware of his tongue, I have become aware of my lower jaw. It is literally keeping me up at night. I think this might be destiny calling to me.

Speaking of being kept up at night, here is a new paragraph. You may recall from my last post (unless you didn’t read it, in which case don’t bother, for I am about to summarize it for you) that I stayed up until 1 a.m. Sunday night/Monday morning cleaning out cabinets for the cabinet re-facing that is being performed on our kitchen this week. I also slept poorly because of being aware of my lower jaw (and possibly because of the condition of my lower jaw, which was addressed in aforementioned prior post). The night before that I had stayed up until 1 a.m. watching Mad Men on the Netflix, and also slept poorly because of the jaw thing. Last night I went to bed relatively early, but did not fall asleep right away, despite my extreme tiredness, because of the jaw thing, and about an hour into the non-sleeping jaw thing, I heard Girlfriend start crying. She often gets up in the middle of the night crying because she has to go to the bathroom but isn’t awake enough to process that information appropriately, so I immediately got out of bed and went to her room to help her process, and when we got into the bathroom, lo and behold, she threw up. That was an unexpected process.

I was kind of hoping that it was because she’d eaten mini corn dogs for dinner (not my idea, not my fault!) and swallowed a bunch of pool water afterward (also not my idea, also not my fault–see previous post), and not because she was sick with some virus–because one is a much longer process than the other–but alas, this was not the vomit of some passing fancy. She continued to get up periodically during the rest of the night to vomit and continue vomiting until long after the contents of her stomach had been emptied. It was pretty pathetic. I lost track of how many times she (and I) got up, but it’s not like I was sleeping anyway, so whatever. I mean, no, not whatever. It was very sad. At one point she said (in between dry heaves), “Mommy, I don’t want this!” You’re preaching to the choir, sweetheart. Preaching to the choir.

Semi-relevant side note: I would be remiss if I did not express my gratitude for the fact that Girlfriend, at the tender age of almost-six, has mastered the art of throwing up in the toilet. She’s like the vomiting prodigy of the household. I mean, that first vomiting episode did not quite reach its intended destination, but that was because she was sleepy and disoriented and the toilet lid was down, and I didn’t have time to lift it up before she took aim–but take aim she did, directly onto the toilet lid, which in a kinder universe would not have been there in the first place. The point is, I was very proud of her, and very glad that I didn’t have to clean mini-corn-dog and public pool water puke out of her bed or worse, the carpet. Very glad indeed.

I’m sorry if this post is too graphic for you, but I get insensitive when I’m sleep-deprived. Perhaps I should add a warning. Maybe to the title! All of this was just to say that the last 48 hours or so have been a blur, but at certain points during these 48 hours, I have been able to get some sleep, but I know it is not quality sleep by the quality of my dreams.

And now we get to the real point of this post, which is to tell you that I had a very strange dream about Ronnie Milsap. As opposed to a normal dream about Ronnie Milsap, which would have been less disconcerting. I suppose it’s really the presence of Ronnie Milsap that renders the dream strange, at least for me. (I don’t know about you.) In the dream, he was just about to go onstage to do a concert, but then he started talking about this song he’d written about his favorite tie, which happened to be the tie he was wearing. It had a piano keyboard on it–which makes sense, being that he’s a piano player. But he seemed to have very strong feelings about the song, and I also got the impression that he didn’t think other people appreciated the song as much as he thought they ought to. Then he fired a bunch of his musicians, with a fair amount of rancor, I might add. I found that strange as well. I mean, it didn’t seem like he was being fair to them, number one, but number two, shouldn’t he at least have waited until after the concert? Needless to say, I was left with the impression that Ronnie Milsap was somewhat unstable, mentally or emotionally. But then Girlfriend got up to puke again, and there the dream ended.

Now, I don’t find strange dreams nearly as unsettling when I can figure out where their strange, disparate elements come from and how they may have gotten a foothold on my subconscious. But it’s safe to say that I haven’t thought of Ronnie Milsap in…weeks. That part is really the kicker. I don’t know why I would have dreamed about Ronnie Milsap last night (or this afternoon, perhaps). It makes no sense whatsoever. Hence, my discombobulation.

You might be wondering what my part was in all this Ronnie Milsap drama, which is why I must point out that I was strictly an observer here. I was not involved in Ronnie Milsap firing his musicians, nor did it occur to me to try to stop him. I guess I didn’t think it was my place. I should here point out that I am often an observer in my dreams. I’m sure this says a lot about me. In fact, I’m positive that it says a lot about me. Like I’m an observer in my own life, powerless to affect any outcomes. Or perhaps I only like to think I’m powerless. Wasn’t I just saying that in my last post? Didn’t I as good as admit that I prefer not to act but to be acted upon? Or perhaps it only means that I watch too much television. I stay up late watching too much television. Or it could be all of those things. It’s probably all of those things. At least I’m self-aware, even if I’m not aware of why I’m dreaming about Ronnie Milsap.

Well, I have to get back to deciding whether or not to do some laundry this evening. It seems thematically appropriate to close with some Ronnie Milsap. (It may also be educational for those of you who have been wondering, “Who the crap is Ronnie Milsap?”) Gentle readers, adieu.

(I’m pretty sure this is not the piano tie song.)

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