On Thursday the 19th, I got out of bed at 5:11am and crept into the dining room. I tried to be quiet, but Dad caught onto the noise and turned on the light. I was caught redhanded with a half-eaten 85C Boroh Danish in hand, so he smiled and asked if I was hungry.
Truth is, I couldn’t sleep. There was too much gas in me. This was the same gas that had caused two daytime confusion spells Wednesday evening. One of those spells occurred right before bed; in my confused state, I forwent most of my usual bedtime routine, including raising my bed. (Wonder if sleeping flat could’ve increased the gas.)
