If we ever start a weekly story potluck, you might as well know I’ll be bringing the Humor Ones every time.

You can bring the julienned red bell pepper stories. They’re delicious, too. The ones that make me weepy or stir up big love are great. (Makes you wonder if whoever invented catharsis knew the gold mine they’d unearthed).

But of all Brian’s stories, it’s the wry, the sly, the ironic, the ones with the slight sting that I find I’m always hungry for. (Okay, really, this is the end of that potluck analogy. You’d think I’d learn my lesson. :\)

Anyway, no matter how many time I’ve read them – the ‘funny ones’, they seem to have little hooks in them that snag on my mind. One second, I’m as complacent as you could be, the next I’m contemplating.

And so it is with Sleeping. It’s simple, funny and a little too true, and you’d think that’d be all. But I hardly ever read it without accidentally wandering into wondering … um, what am I doing right now? Slumbering luxuriously? Recovering? Gathering up my strength? Or am I just stubbornly refusing to sit up and wake up.

How could you NOT love a story that does that? :)