So tired, but I'm waiting for my dog to dry.

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It's getting late and my eyelids are getting heavy. My contacts are drying and my eyes are feeling gritty. My bed is sitting there, calling to me. It's plump arms open wide waiting to cradle me in cozy warmth. But here I sit, in this chair that is leaving marks on my butt and leggs. Tapping away at this keybord while the pages load at the speed of cold mustard. Small naps in between each page keep me going. My leg is falling asleep. I was too tired to move the laundry off the chair, so I am perched on the edge of it. Why am I torturing myself, you may ask? (Or maybe you didn't) My poochie got to take a shower with me. He sleeps under the covers next to me, and if I try to climb into my bed, he will be under the covers before I am. I don't want to snuggle with a wet dog. Even though he's clean, he still smells like a wet dog. And more to the point... he's wet. SO I will NOT go to bed, so that he will not go to bed. We will endure this together until it is safe to climb into that dream-inducing softness. Not fair, he's asleep on a pile of dirty laundry next to me.