Siobhan didn’t have to pee, but she knew if she didn’t go, she would get into bed and think about how she should have peed. Then her mind wouldn’t shut off and she’d lie there, thinking about how she should have gone, and it would consume her thoughts. Which, sometimes would be a good thing. It would give her something mundane to think about – how she should have gone to the bathroom.
And if she didn’t go now, she’d wake in the middle of the night, look at the clock and the early hours might be glowing on odd figures, maybe at three-fifty-one a.m. or one-thirty-nine a.m. and she didn’t want to have to squish her eyes shut and not get out of bed because of odd timing. And then be up all night.
She knew however, with as much anxiety that was building about tomorrow, she wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, so pee now or not, she was going to be awake all night.
She untied her PINK sweats, yanked them down to her knees, and tried to go. Nothing happened. Not even a trickle or a drop. Still, she reached for the toilet paper, grabbed a wad, and wiped away nothing.
Her pants back up, and facing the mirror again, she pulled her long black curly hair into a pony tail, grabbed the elastic secured around her wrist and twisted her hair up into a high bun. Siobhan took one more look at her reflection, tried to simulate a cheerful and open smile, tried to be open-minded about what lay ahead tomorrow, then she stuck her tongue out. She walked down the hall into her bedroom.
On the edge of her bed, she lotioned the bottom of her feet, threw on some socks and grabbed her phone. She texted Martin: u home?
Then she scrolled through some Facebook updates and checked Twitter. The Counting Crows were on tour and Adam had finally updated with a tweet – it had been more than eight hours since he last had something to say. There was an Instagram picture of him and his band members.
Siobhan hoped tomorrow would be a good day. Maybe her fortune would finally bring something good.
“Tomorrow will be a new day.” She said out loud.
Her clock now read ten-forty-two p.m. She had completely missed all odd numbers. A good sign of things to come. She hoped so anyway.
She reached over and turned out her light.
About The Author
Stephanie Elliot is an author, editor, book reviewer, and she currently runs Manic Mommy Reviews & Reads FB Fan page. She previously blogged for 10 years as Manic Mommy. She has written for a variety of newspapers, magazines and websites on topics such as parenting, pregnancy, family, marriage, sex, relationships and humor. She lives in Arizona with her husband of 20-plus years and her three children. For more information, please visit www.stephanieelliot.com, or email [email protected].
A Little Bit of Everything Lost Page 24