12 Hours

Drank a cup of coffee at 8pm last night.

I'd never done that before. And I'll never do it again.

Had an awesome energized time with the Lord.

Took a dose of Nyquil at 9:30 to reverse the effects of the coffee.

Crawled in bed at 10:30 with the dizzy spins.

Heard something I thought was a bird outside.

Heard it again a few minutes later.

But I was paralyed in a mid winter's night coma and I thought it would eventually cease.

It taunted me. Us. Constantly. All. Night. Long.

Though I couldn't make out what the noise was.

Around 4am, EJ and I, after being disturbed throughout the night came to a verbal conclusion: It's Justin Bieber, the toothbrush.

He was trying to sing to us all night long, that when we smile, he smiles.

Neither of us were smiling at that point.

Who's getting out of bed to face the 20 degree temperature, climb down the ladder and put the malfunctioning crooning toiletry out of its misery?

After some convincing and pleading, at 5am like a mini Macgyver she shimmied down the loft and brought me the torture stick.

At 6am, in the exhaustion of a wasted night, the absurdity of the situation finally got to us.

We were smiling.

We were now laughing.

And the sun was officially shining through the tops of the trees.

The toothbrush was still singing away and I was ready to take a hatchet to the thing once and for all.

But the day had begun, waffles were being toasted, and the show must go on, sleepless night or not.

By 8am, as I poured the orange juice and stirred the coffee, sanity barely intact, I had enough clarity to remove the batteries.

With the brush sitting here next to me as I write this, I feel like a victim of some pop culture torture.

I only hope the Biebs is out there smiling somewhere, cause after a night like that, I certainly am.