The other night Camille and I decided to celebrate my new apartment by having a sleepover of sorts. So I got out the guest-airmattress and air-matress blower upper and put it to work. Unfortunately it ran out of batteries about 4/5 the way through. I huffed and puffed and got it up to an acceptable, though ungreat, level. I plugged the electric one back in to the wall and placed it on the windowsill next to Sir Gus and Sir Adam.

Camille said that I might be more comfortable if I finish blowing it up. By that point the blower upper was recharged so there was no reason not to other than the laziness that ultimately prevailed. Camille wanted me to get her up at 5:30 and I figured I would go ahead and get up at that time to so that I could get to work early. When 5:30 rolled around, neither of us were willing to get up.

The preceeding paragraphs are important because if I'd done the "right thing" in either instance, the following would not have occured.

At roughly 6, I felt something smash against my head. And I mean smash. The sound alone woke Camille up. I didn't want to get up so I just laid there until the blood started getting in to my eyes. When I did get up, I saw more blood on the pillow that I had just cleaned. The remaining lump on my head was actually pretty small. The cut was actually pretty small there (my thought: How did that much blood come out of that?).

"To add insult to injury," Camille noted, "it looks like a really big pimple."

Just in time to meet her extended family this weekend...