Today we will begin the continuing saga of tinfoil. From time to time (about once a month) we will revisit the ever annoying properties of the full moon on the human body. Specifically mine. This may not be as facinating as it first appears.

I seem to be moon-sensitive. Perhaps this can be attributed to more water on the brain? I know the moon can influence the tides in the ocean, so perhaps it’s a mere physical sloshing in my head that creates strange dreams and odd wakeful periods in the night. Ask any emergency room personnel and they’ll confirm the increase in activity during a full moon. I’m not talking urban legend here, I’m talking to friends and family! It really does happen, right here in mid-America.

For as long as I can remember, it seems the full moon has been a harbinger of strange dreams. I have more remembered dreams than the ‘normal’ person as it is, and yes, I usually do dream in color. It doesn’t seem to be a factor if I can actually see the moon at the time of fullness. I’ve had issues when the weather has been overcast or when I had perfectly good, thick, moon-proof blinds. (Those of you who are faithful readers know that we are now living in a new house without such protection. Okay, yes, I did purchase blinds, but I didn’t say I had gotten them installed yet, right?) My DH likes to add his two-cents-worth in reminding me that ‘the full moon is full all the time – you just can’t see it’. Uh huh. Tell that to the brain.

As it is, I am once more wide-awake at 3 a.m. dreading the 6 a.m. alarm knowing tomorrow is going to be a shitty day because I’m going to be so damn tired. Yes, I hear you whispering “you should have stayed in bed” but I know myself and to be in bed right now would be a toss-fest and I’m just not up to that. Oh. Bad pun.

So I rise up out of my oh-so-comfortable (yes, I think I finally got the ‘number’ right) and warm bed and slink down to the family room so not to wake DH. I bring books and trail cats and find my laptop all plugged in and begging for some attention. I can’t resist a little blogging. Maybe talking to you is just the warm-milk placebo I needed.

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Middle-aged. Anti-social. Mom. Grandma. Town-raised farmer's wife. Iowan. Want more? Come read the blogs.

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