My TV

I did the unthinkable today; I actually shut my TV off when I went to try and sleep. I never shut this thing off unless I’m going to be out of the house for an eon of hours. It’s on twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, which is actually better for it than repeated offings and onings. At least that’s what I tell myself. Still, you can imagine what an event it is for me to actually hit the off switch. So, I curled up to sleep, and found I couldn’t. I heard every little noise; every creak of floorboards, every settling of windowsills, every crick, and crack. I resorted to turning the radio on very low, just so I could have something going. Even that wasn’t enough. Apparently, as annoying as it is to be addicted to, it’s a sort of lullaby to me, in a way. I’m so used to it, that I’m not certain how to sleep without it. The noises, I suppose, wouldn’t have been quite so deafening to my nerves, if I hadn’t experienced the joys of finding a squirrel in my house yesterday; so every time I hear a noise, now, I think it’s another one. I like squirrels just as much as anyone else, but my boys would try to catch it. I’m sure there’s nothing in here, I’m sure it’s just my imagination, but I still want to go back to the days when all I had to worry over was whether Mulder and Scully were going to kiss or not!