The Cup

3:30 AM, my alarm sounds. The alarm is a rooster crowing. Cock-a-doodle doo--over and over and over. At that point I have two choices; I can hit "snooze" to delay the inevitable, and invite the rooster back into my bedroom in 10 minutes, or I can hit the "off" button, which silences that squawking bird for the next 24 hours, but means that I need to get up. Arguably, the most annoying alarm ever, but that's the point.

Why am I setting my alarm before the real roosters start crowing? I need to pump. My goal is to get the job done while remaining drowsy, so that I can drift off again once my 20 minutes of "milking" are over.

I get up, and grab my empty cup off the nightstand. I always get so thirsty pumping. I fill the cup with water, then use the chamber pot toilet--I have this thing about flushing in the middle of the night. It disrupts the quiet too much for my liking. As I sit there, I force my foggy brain to think, "Cup. Cup. Cup. Don't forget the cup."

I go back to bed, prop pillows up, and hook up to the pump. After a few minutes I reach for the cup. It's not there. It's 10 feet away from me on the bathroom counter. Really? Ugh! I unhook myself, grab the cup and commence being a Guernsey.

Ah--the sweet relief of water to my parched throat. You would think that such a feeling would help me to remember the cup full of that refreshing water on the bathroom counter. But, no. I forget it every. single. night. Amazing! I think I'm going crazy. Or, maybe it's just that I haven't slept through the night in approximately 18 months. Either way, I definitely need a new system, because clearly my memory is sleeping at 3:30 along with the roosters.