I'm terrified I'm going to cut my own bangs.

I can't sleep and I know myself well enough to know that when I don't sleep, I do bad things. Three out of four ex-husbands agree.

I am curled up in my bed listening to Diana Krall and various assorted and sundry vocalists I admire, and watching Anderson Cooper without sound - which incidentally is sort of a great way to watch him. He's way funny in my head. Probably because I imagine him to have a Barney Rubble voice with just a hint of Cockney.

I'm sorry I said Cockney. It wasn't my intention to drag my sweet Anderson out of the Cockney closet.

So Rush Limbaugh got married. I believe that to be the real reason I can't sleep, I feel like crying, and I have a powerful craving for a handful of Percocet and a spoonful of lard. He married a blonde hottie who is younger than him. I'll pause while you pretend to be shocked. I find opening my mouth very wide while putting my hand over my heart tends to get the job done.

They met on Match.com. Her interests were long walks on the beach, planning events, (which BTW is rich people code for "unemployed"), making fun of Michael J. Fox, and imagining all the ways to spend millions of dollars while lying beneath a grunting, sweaty, balding, asshole.

OK. I lied about the Match.com thing. They actually met at a charity golf tournament. If I'm not mistaken, it was to benefit Save the Whales...Because They Make Beautiful Purses and Their Blow-holes Are So Darn Tasty.

Yes. I'm definitely feeling all these strung out emotions and experiencing this wicked insomnia as a direct result of the Limbaugh nuptials. I'm gonna try to meditate or read or tap dance or something entirely calming so that I might forget and possibly even sleep at some point.

Or maybe I'll go dig out the kitchen shears and get rid of this pesky face fringe.