The other night I was awoken at 12:22. Not by a child. Not by any neighborhood activity. Not by Smith's errant phone beeping an "important" calendar reminder.
Nope. By a cockroach. In my bed. ON ME.
I bolted out of the bed (understatement of the year) and watched it scurry over and around the other occupants of the bed before disappearing over the other side.
Perhaps the worst part of the story, a testament to how totally out of sorts I was, is that after it was out of sight, I crawled back into bed.