Jesus Horatio Christ. It is well past 3 in the morning, I am too worried to sleep and I have to be at my yoga studio in 6 hours. Having brunch with friends following that. And then I have to be at work 12 hours from now. I should really go to sleep. I can't. First off, Brownie is sick. Seriously sick. Nauseatingly sick. I can't sleep because I am worried that she needs to go to the emergency vet. And if I put it off, what if she just gets sicker? Then again, she just chased The Snooch down the hall. Actually, Lucy chased The Snooch, and Brownie followed Lucy at full speed. I should really go to sleep. I can't stop thinking about things. I cannot shut my brain down. I ought to read, but all I have is the error-riddled celebrity crime book and the book about how the journalist tricked the Green Beret, who'd been accused of murdering his family, to gain access to his story and testimony, and then wrote a book and used trickery to gain higher sales. Neither of those is especially soothing bedtime reading. Not that that bothers me. I love those types of books. Well, the error-riddled one upsets me, but it is still interesting. I'm not taking much of it as truth. After all, if you can't even be bothered to get O.J.'s sport right, I can't help you. I should really go to sleep!