I'm exhausted. And this is to blame . . .

The last few summers, I have been stalked at night by a single, annoying, relentless, mosquito. This results in me spending an hour or two listening to the irritating buzzing noise until it stops at which time I flail my arms and rub my face to hopefully dislodge it from wherever it has alighted. If I could be guaranteed that: it wouldn't bite me in the face; and it would die a horrible death after sucking my blood, I'd let it do its dirty work.

At 2:40 am I finally got up and sprayed myself from head to toe in Deet laden bug spray and went back to bed thinking that at this point, I could have gone to a midnight showing of The Dark Knight and gotten just as much sleep. If I thought they'd let me into the theater in my jammies and with a big blanket, I probably would have gone.

I don't know where the skeeter comes from. As far as I know there are no pools of standing water anywhere except by bird bath and I empty it and re-fill it every day.

All I know is that Noah missed his opportunity.