This is another one of those days that I wish I had the excuse of hard living to explain how I feel.
I was relatively good last night, and didn't stay up too late. And all I got to show for it was a nightmare, a compelling dream I can't remember, and a face that looks like I didn't sleep at all.
So sometime around 3:00 AM, I had a dream where ants/spiders/tiny spheroidal creatures were slowly being pumped into my bedroom onto my night stand. And it was real enough, disturbing enough, and/or effective enough that I woke up looking for them, and trying to stop them. I turned on the light, slapping at every stray hair touching my back, arms, or legs, and worked to convince myself that it was just a dream.
At least the light didn't wake my up too much, and did not wake up the cat. So I went back to sleep.
Pom did decide she wanted to go out ten minutes before the alarm went off, and I was deep in another dream. Deep enough that her scratching at the closet door (the outside, she doesn't sleep in the closet) became incorporated into the dream. I shuffled around, let her out, and then spent the next half an hour, in between alarm snoozes, trying to remember what the dream had been about.
No fucking idea.