I had a rough night last night. I fell asleep at about 615 this morning, following about 7 hours of tossing and turning and watching Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew.

I realize that in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t really all that rough. I have not lived through a hurricane, a tsunami or a terrorist attack. I haven’t lived in a war zone, been diagnosed with a chronic or terminal illness, suffered through a violent crime or been made to sit through an entire episode of the Tyra Banks Show.

But, man, am I tired.

At about 330, after the infomercials started, I crawled back into bed where Janie was having only slightly more luck than I was in getting to sleep. Not long after, I became somewhat delirious and started to have ridiculous thoughts. I was convinced that somehow I’d been slipped drugs and couldn’t sleep because I was probably high on PCP. I considered that maybe someone had laced our roasted chicken from the grocery store. It made sense that Janie was sleeping a little more than me, because I had chicken for lunch and dinner. I was incredulous at the possibility that someone had sold me drug laden poultry. I remember thinking to myself: I am high on angel dust. I could lift a car with all this adrenaline surging through my body! I started to think about Big Lurch, a rapper who, in his attempt to gain some street cred while high on PCP, murdered and ate his girlfriend. After considering that, I was pretty sure I wasn’t high, only a little retarded.

Tonight, after I attend Mini Medical School with all my best ladies, I’m gonna take some over the counter sleep medications to help me fall fast asleep, and dream about pulling Janie’s scissor toes off so she stops tearing holes in my favorite work socks.