And now for something completely different.

It's 3:33 a.m. and I'm wide awake.  Not a wee bit awake, mind you.  Wi-ii-ide awake.  As in, my eyes can barely blink.  My feet are dancing to tunes of their own. My brain is full of the things I need to accomplish tomorrow so I can go back to work early and get busy catching up on the work I missed last part of last week when I was viciously attacked by some allergen.  Whew!  That sentence just about wore me out!

The things that go through one's brain at 3:40 a.m. when one knows one should be sleeping like a good one.  For example, I was just wondering how many times I could use one in a sentence.  Now if that's not something perfectly worthy of thought I can't tell you what is.

I could do some ironing.  I could.  It would be a quiet thing to do.    I could dust.  Dusting is quiet.  Usually.  But what if I were ironing at the moment I could fall asleep if I were in bed instead.  Ooooh, did you catch that?  In bed instead.  It was like a little poem.  A pretty good one, too.  Oh, there was one again.

Yep, it wasn't a bad poem for 3:45 a.m.  I think I'll write another one.

There once was a word called one

Who hardly ever was done.

Twas a busy one, one,

And a great lot of fun

That busy ol' word called one.

But one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do. One, singular sensation. One fine day, you'll look at me - e - e, and you will know our love was meant to be - e - e.

Do you ever start to type once and type wonce.  I do.

It just occurred to me that this probably isn't the best blog I've ever written.  But, hey, it's 3:51 a.m. and one can't be expected be too. . . . .That's funny. . . one can't be expected to be to (two).

And after that last blog, I really should try to write a good one. I'm giggling out loud now.  Have you ever seen so many ones?  But if there are lots of them, can they be ones?  Oh, that's heavy.  Far too (two, to) heavy for 3:56 a.m.

I might regret pushing that publish post button, or I might decide not to (two, too, whoo, whoo).