I've been up since 3 AM.
Since I was wide awake and not even particularly comfortable in bed (it's a cosmic rule that your bed is only truly comfortable after 8 AM when you typically have to get up), I thought maybe...MAYBE my subconscious was just really amped about writing and that I should brave the cold to let it do its thing.
Apparently my subconscious is a lot like a dog that thinks it has to be let out in the middle of a sleet storm in the middle of the night to poop.
You drag yourself out of bed, you stumble to the door, you let it out.
Then you stand, shivering in your threadbare pajamas and you comfort yourself by thinking how you are a good, responsible dog owner.
Your dog waits and looks at you and waits and sniffs the air and looks at you and paws at some mud. The look on its face says, "Why did you bring me out here again?" It does not go to the bathroom.
Malachy, winner of the 2012 Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Doesn't that face just say, "Let me out and see how long it takes. I dare you."
Finally it trots back inside like, "False alarm! See, this is really funny. You're going to laugh when I tell you. Okay? So, I thought I had to go but it turns out I just enjoy making you stand outside in the cold. Hey, I don't judge you for the TV shows you watch, so don't judge me. And also, just a heads up: a few hours from now when you've finally managed to fall back asleep about fifteen minutes before your alarm goes off, I'll be down here pooping all over the floor."
Thanks for nothing, Subconscious.