That’s the song playing in my head at 5 a.m. over and over. Just the refrain.
Our brains have a huge capacity for self-torture. Why not after all? When we are going day to day through life and hardly feeding them at all, why shouldn’t they wake us up at 5 a.m. with the random awful refrain of the worst Christmas song ever written?
I haven’t read a book since I quit my book club. I thought I would, but instead I just gave up. I’ve been passing out with exhaustion instead on the sofa during CSI, hardly making it to bed before my eyelids are crashing.
But my mind is protesting. It’s bored. So it wakes me up at 4 a.m. for a chat. This morning, it wants to know, “why would Sister Susie ever sit on a thistle?”
