Bedtime. 9.

Oh, God.

Last night, sometime after 2, Girl came home. She works nights, so this was not unusual. The long time spent on the phone was unusual. My house is small, with cathedral ceilings and tile floors, and sound travels, so though she tried to be vewwwy vewwwy quiet, I heard her moving around and then - inexplicably - on the phone, reciting a string of numbers. And I'm trying very hard to go back to sleep, because my daughter is 23 and a responsible adult, and I'm sure if it was worth waking me up she would have, so I was going to go back to sleep. Yeah. Right.

After it got quiet again, I managed to fall asleep. At 4-f-ing-ay-em, Dudley suddenly ran to the back door just off my bedroom in the empty "studio" and knocked at the door furiously. And Dudley knocks a commanding knock, not a tentative scratch, you can't ignore it. And I screamed at him - "Dammit Dudley it's 4 o'clock in the morning, GO TO BED!" And Dudley looked at me, and knocked again, harder. And I swore furiously and got up and opened the door. And he went into the yard and spent a very long time there, because he really, REALLY did have to go. So how could I be mad at him - the dog had an urgent need and was determined to do it outside even if I yelled at him, and I am so glad he did, because that would have been a majorly unpleasant cleaning experience. So he got praise and love and an apology when he came in. And it was, by then, about ten after four in the morning. And I had gone to sleep after ten, and had maybe four hours of semi-normal sleep before the house was alive with God Knows What.

This morning, I'm at my desk getting ready for a long, tortuous meeting, and my auto insurance company calls me. (Girl is sitll on my policy because she just graduated from college, and it hasn't renewed yet, but as long as she's living at home she can stay on it and kick in her share.) Girl's car was hit last night - it's okay, she wasn't in it. She is fine. The car is dented but driveable, and there is a police report and don't worry about it, we're just calling you because you are the primary on the policy. I said okay, no big deal, she works nights and I work days and if it had been serious she'd have called me, we'll talk about it later. And then I went into the meeting from hell, where brain cells died.

Girl called me later, after she was awake and getting ready to go to work, and told me a screamingly funny story that I can't retell here without permission, but it is truly Seinfeldian. Her car was hit by a drunk while PARKED. She wasn't in it. Someone careened into the parking lot where the car was parked, jumped two curbs, and hit her car. Police came, report filed. This was on top of an insane night at work.

As anyone who has worked with the public can attest, full moon crazy lasts a few days on either side of the full moon.

Long meeting, followed by long lunch meeting. Brain shutting down, but I had to share that before I forget it. Bed. Now. Night-night!