I’m on the verge of becoming one of those people who apologize for not writing and bitch about having nothing to say. Yeah, I hate those people.

But instead of that, I will tell you about how I scared the shit out of myself last night. I was stumbling up to bed at about 11:30, bleary eyed and exhausted. My new habit of waking up between 6:14 and 6:44 a.m. is for the goddamn birds. Seriously. I would be okay with this new rise and shininess if it meant that I was going to bed an hour or so earlier. But nooooo, my bedtime remains steadfast between 11:30 and 12:30.

However, this is not about how sleep is a bitch. No, this about scaring myself silly.

So I was stumbling up the stairs, cellphone and Liz Moore’s The Words to Every Song in hand. I flicked on the hallway light because I am convinced that one of these days I will trip over a random cat and plummet to my death.

As I was rounding the top of the stairs, heading to the bathroom, I caught something out of the corner of my eye, someone was in my bed. My heart started to pound and I immediately started to sweat.

I thought about running back downstairs to call someone, but my knees were too shaky. I jumped into the still-empty master bedroom to formulate a game plan.

It was at about this time, right before the game plan formulation that I realized there was no way in hell someone was in my bed. I hadn’t left Supergenius HQ all day, and though I can be kind of spacey I am pretty sure I wouldn’t have missed someone scaling the garage to get to my bedroom.

At that point, while feeling like a total jackass, I remembered that it was my covers. In my early (meaning pre-6:44 a.m.) Sunday-morning sleepy awakeness, I had shoved all the covers to the other side of the bed. I tucked them in behind my back and curled into them, pretending that it was another body.

I even remembered smiling to myself and congratulating me on my awesome cover arranging.