Last night was one of those horrible nights when you know that somewhere, something is going wrong. I was hot. I was uncomfortable. It was past 3 AM and I couldn’t sleep. And it wasn’t like there was any reason for me to be tetchy— I just had the feeling that something was happening that I should be aware about, but I wasn’t. Call it my sixth sense; call it women’s intuition; call it whatever you like, but it was ringing like a fire station during a 5-alarm fire. Klaxons were going on in my head and all— danger, danger.
I HATE being the last to know things.
It’s not a fun feeling. When I finally DID fall asleep, I had the same sort of unsettling dreams I’ve been having lately, haunted by the same characters, and even in my dreams, there was nothing I could do about it but sit there and argue the same arguments, over and over and over again.
Futility is not a feeling I enjoy, at all.