How bout them apples?

So it's 12:15 am and I am booiiiing! bbbboinnnng! Wide.frigging.awake. It's not fair. I turn 37 and magically develop insomnia? Next I'm going to be suffering from what my mother called 'Private Summers' and complaining about my gray pubic hairs. Wait, I already do that. Sheesh. So, here I am, having snuck out the bed and left a sleeping redheaded snorer to cuddle with the shithead dog who growls and snarls if you so much as roll over and grope for an extra fistful of covers, and I sit fixated zombically on the neon glow in the darkness. Hello, world.

Today Lily and I were walking out of my doctor's office, which is more of a free clinic type place, since my El Cheapo health insurance isn't accepted at many reputable places, and we passed a table of colorful, neatly arranged pamphlets. Lily stopped to check them out and I didn't realize until we were in the car and she was really quiet and I saw her lips moving in the rearview, that she was totally engrossed in a little piece of literature she'd picked up. This one featured poorly-drawn-yet-happy-go-lucky-looking cartoon images of latino gay couples, lounging on the couch, getting ready for bed, chilling at the park. The title of the pamphlet was "Living With HIV".

So this started a convo (me ever being the 'approachable, teacherly' type mom)about AIDS and what it is (the very, very diluted version) and how its important to take good care of yourself and be 'healthy', especially when you get 'older', and that I would explain more about that when she was older. She said, "Well, you must have a lot on your shoulders, then, because you're older."

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. And I don't need to, because it is my waking life. Speaking of being awake...