[2:29AM] I'm awake because I had a terrible nightmare about my mother. I awoke to the ceiling fan going haywire on high-blast (we always leave it on low). I also felt this warm jolting bright light--- like being moved into a zone where ~*spirits*~ (my angels perhaps?) could reach me.
Of course instead of logically attributing this fan thing to the A/C power surge (which sometimes will trigger the ceiling fan light to turn on), I immediately assume that my mom indeed has passed away and she is trying to signal me from The Other Side. I'd call her, but it's far too late (and that would be crazy).
Now I'm sitting here, having to be up in a couple of hours, with a massive stomach ache and T-H-E L-O-U-D-E-S-T F-U-C-K-I-N-G K-E-Y-B-O-A-R-D K-N-O-W-N T-O M-A-N-K-I-N-D.
When I was little and couldn't sleep, my mom used to make me drink warm milk. I dreaded it. The smell alone was so putrid, let alone the way it coated your throat on its way down to ominously slosh around in your stomach. Sometimes it would be too hot and she'd blow on it. The stench of insomnia wafted over me as I anticipated to board the train to Vom City, U.S.A.
Later, I'd come to discover that I am lactose intolerant. But I ain't mad at her for forcing milk down my disaccharidase deficient pie hole. Parenting was just different back then. I ought to drink some warm milk for old time's sake right now, but my ass would surely explode.