Marrying George Clooney

i bolt up.

i am wide awake.

it’s 3:25 am. or maybe it’s 3:52 am, i’m a little blurry eyed.

my mind is racing, this is what’s on my mind, in no particular order (as I stare up at the ceiling fan while it is on a slow “counter clockwise” rotation):

who’s the 3rd person this week? leftovers in the fridge – ugh. bella & lotus, a whole year already. ken’s memory, or lack of. my memory, or lack of. my mom, missing her. money, where’d it all go to? obama’s rating. my credit rating. refinancing. or not. my book’s pub date. fear of success, fear of failure, fear of both simultaneously, wearing the wrong clothes, bad haircuts, wearing the wrong — uh oh – shoes, too much lipstick, not enough mascara, tweezing my eyebrows, shaving my legs, getting a yearly check-up, self diagnosing irritable bowel syndrome (or is it just gas?), dinner parties, birthday lunches, my mom’s wedding band, my dad’s pinky ring, my friends, ken’s kisses, sagging breasts (mine), sciatica or is it just restless leg syndrome… life, death, refilling my ambien script. And worrying, endlessly worrying that i don’t have enough facebook fans to feel good enough about myself to actually log on to facebook at this ungodly hour…