Help! I've been all but raped!

That's a line from "Far and Away," which I won't be watching any more, because Tom Cruise is a freak. But it seemed fitting this morning. Here's why:

I have trouble sleeping. I go to sleep just fine at night, but after five hours of sleep, I wake up, and lay there for approximately 90 to 120 minutes until I fall asleep again, usually about the time daltonboy has to get up and go to work (while at my in-laws' last weekend I got so tired I decided to take a sleep aid--big mistake. Next time I must remember to only take one). Last night was no exception. I woke up at 3:00. Here's the conversation I had with myself:

Dang. 3:00. Can't I EVER just SLEEP until 6:00? No, I can't. I MUST wake up in the middle of the night and read for two hours every single night. And then I must be cranky and tired all day. Well. I can tell I'm not going right back to sleep. I wonder if I should read. Dang. My booklight batteries are dead. Do I feel like getting new batteries? Not really. Maybe I'll just fall asleep again without reading.

Nope. Nope, I won't. I'm never going to get back to sleep. Should I get the batteries? I'll probably make too much noise putting them in, and wake daltonboy up. Plus, I don't really feel like getting out of bed.

Toss, turn, toss . . .

Dang. I'm never going to get back to sleep. I'll probably fall asleep right when DB is getting up, and then I'll be awake again. Dang. Well, what should I do tomorrow? I mean, today. Oh, don't go there--you'll never get back to sleep, obssessing about all the stuff that needs to be done . . .

Toss, turn--and I open my eyes to see a man standing over me. In one split second of terror I note (for the police report) that he is wearing a black baseball cap, black jacket, black pants, and boots. Or maybe they just look black because it's dark. I can't see his face. He's bending over me . . . I do what any woman of sense would do. I scream.

Daltonboy's voice says, from the area of the dark man's mouth, "What?"

I'm gasping, shaking. He sits down and tries to comfort me. I can't talk. He seems confused. After all, he comes in every morning before he leaves at 5:30 to kiss me goodbye. I generally give him a better welcome than that.

So the confused man waits for me to stop shaking, gives me a kiss, and goes to work. I lay there feeling equally confused. I feel over on the other side of the bed with my legs. No one there. It was 3:00 just a minute ago . . . well. Now that I'm alone, there's no reason I shouldn't turn the light on and get some reading done.