Normally, I wouldn’t post two in a day, but I’m feeling good. The sun is shining, people are in good spirits and it’s almost time to go home. Anyway, a while ago, a fellow blogger and all-around funny lady, Rebecca (her site is Lady or Not… Here I Come; if you haven’t read her stuff, why the hell are you still reading my nonsense?), posted about her troubles going to sleep. I suppose this post is just my way of relating to that. Here’s a little story I wrote, it probably explains a lot.
It’s three in the morning, my eyes are burning, my throat is dry and I’m terrified to close my eyes. If I get out of bed, the dogs will go mad and think it’s breakfast time and, as a result, wake up the peacefully slumbering lovely next to me. I shoot her a hateful glance, eyes full of envy and spite. If I lie here much longer, I might snap and kill them all. How did I get stuck in this horrible situation? I’m glad you asked.
It was about midnight when we went to bed. The dogs were let outside and brought back in, the doors were locked, the computers were powered off and all was quiet. I kissed her for the last time for the day and we snuggled up under the blankets. I was the big spoon. She was warm and comforting and my eyelids were no longer obeying me. I felt a little movement at the foot of the bed, but it was no big deal. It was probably just one of the dogs setting against the bed frame.
Suddenly, something warm and wet slides straight up the arch of my foot. Moxie had worked her head up under the blanket and licked me. I smacked her snout with my foot and started to settle down again when she took a playful nip at my toes.
Attemping to sound authoritative in a hushed tone, I said, “Moxie, lay down, damn it!” I felt the covers move briefly and everything was still again.
With a quiet grumble, I settled in again, pulling closer to my lady and getting comfortable. God, I thought, she is really warm. And she was. It was getting uncomfortable, so I rolled over and turned the bedside fan up a notch. That’s better. I found a comfortable position on my right side, arm under the pillow and hanging off the edge of the bed. Drifting off slowly, I was finally going to get some sleep.
The funny thing about dislocating your shoulder is that it’s never quite the same after. It’s much more likely to come out of joint subsequently. I felt a twinge of pain, then something slipped. I bit my lip, fully awake at this point from the growing pain, rolled onto my back and slowly twisted my arm until the bones fell back into place. I heaved a sigh and shook my head at the futility of it and decided just to stay on my back.
When I lie on my back, I snore. Not just a little, either. I make the drapes move and scare pets. To hell with it, she’ll just have to deal. I thought about getting up for a cigarette, but it wasn’t worth the effort. I considered bothering my sweet for a bit of a romp, but she gets grumpy sometimes. Might be worth the chance, she’s only been asleep for an hour. I decided against it, anyway. The hassle of a negative reaction wasn’t worth it. Of course, now I was thinking about it. I’d never get to sleep like that. So I closed my eyes and pictured a fat, naked old lady. That did the trick.
I opened my eyes again and noticed my nose in the green glow of the alarm clock. It was something of a surreal experience. I had never noticed my nose before, but there it was, pale and green. I laughed a bit and that eased my tension enough that I started to fall into the sweet, silent embrace of sleep. Naked old lady got her revenge just then, over the hood of a Rolls-Royce, no less. It was only a flash (har), but it was burned into my retinas. I was at a loss. I just listened to her quiet breathing and tried to follow the rhythm.
Wow, what a mistake. As I tried to sync our breaths, it slowly dawned on me that I could no longer breathe without thinking about it. Literally, if I didn’t tell my lungs to take air, they wouldn’t do it. Wonderful.
That brings us to the aforementioned killing-spree-waiting-to-happen that is me. If I get up, the dogs will go ballistic and race to the front of the house for breakfast. I don’t even want to close my eyes at this point because pin-up granny might show up for another mental photo-shoot. It’s amazing what a few hours can do to a man; big spoon to time-bomb in record time.
As always, thanks for reading.