RU a Groggy Blogger, too?

No yuge surprise, I’ve not been sleeping well ever since Hillary Clinton’s Election Night, 2016 concession speech; ever since Donald J. Trump placed his dainty hand on the Bible to take his Oath of Office; ever since that fake prez began laying waste to the U.S. Constitution, morality, equality, civility, the environment, etc.; ever since Donald’s pandemic has drastically complicated even the simplest of in-public tasks.

However, this post will be more medically than politically oriented.

I’d like to remind everyone that, to stay healthy in mind and body, we must get 8 hours of sleep each night. Not being alert can lead to problems great and small.

Speaking of small, let’s rehash a post, which this groggy blogger had published, all across the WWW, yesterday… a post I believed I had proofread to perfection. Well, after taking a nap, I reread it and was shocked that I had used “their” instead of “there” within the phrase, “Are we their yet?”

Worse yet, I had copied and pasted that very error THREE additional times!

At first, I chuckled and muttered, “OMG how the Hell did I ever miss THAT?

But, then I started to consider the potentially serious side of sleep deficits.

Sure, groggy blogging only damages one’s credibility, but what if you’re a groggy nuclear power plant operator or brain surgeon… or a groggy motorist cruising down a heavily traveled, major thoroughfare?

In other words…

Hey everybody! Get 8 hours of sleep every night!

 

 

 

 

 

The Rest of My Life

 

To preserve my R.E.M. world; with imagery rife
I’d have eagerly slept onward; the rest of my life

The dream I awoke from; so stunningly real
Surroundings familiar; I could see, hear, smell, feel

My years younger self leaning; upon my window sill
Upward gaze at the full moon; light tranquil, so still

One early bird’s chirping; awakens another; another
As well as my sister; my father; my mother

Our four legged friend; of shepherd / lab stock
Is also attuned; to our circadian clock

He arises from floor at the foot of my bed
Nudges my elbow; on knees rests his head

The kitchen clatter, commotion provides the next clue
As does heaven sent scent; of the coffee pot’s brew

Then just as mom shouts out; “Our pancakes are ready!”
Reality returns; so unsure, unsteady

All who remain of our family: just sister and brother
Shuffled off mortal coil; went our pet, father, mother

Real world woes; with a vengeance, commence to flood back
Right where they had left off; resume their attack

To preserve my R.E.M. world; with imagery rife
I’d have eagerly slept onward; the rest of my life