Letters of Complaint, vol.5
You are the king of getting to sleep. The master. Sometimes I think it happens in under a minute. I'll be yattering to you about something, and your response will be "mhmmmm..." and I'll know I've lost you.
But me, well, me not so much. I have to jiggle my feet. Then I have to lie still. I have to wait. I have to count my inhalations and exhalations...onetwothreefour in....onetwothreefour out. I have to visualize the relaxation of each part of my body.
(Do you understand that this is work for me? It's like I'm my own fussy newborn.)
But, miraculously, somewhere after the jiggling, lying still, counting, and visualizing, eventually I start to feel it...the pull of slumber, the lull of la-la-land. Yesss.
And then....ohhh yes, then...do you know what happens?
An elbow will bonk me, ever-so lightly, and I will jerk awake. Your elbow, my dear.
Yes, my love, I fear you will be my un-doing...sleep-wise, that is.
You twitch, and you mumble, and you snore, and all the while I try to make a barrier of blankets around my self, or turn you onto your side (or even, sometimes, pinch your lips closed to see if they will stay that way).
Sometimes the anticipation of it is the worse. He's going to make a sound and wake me, I just know it...he's going to move a limb and bump me awake, I can feel it... my blood-shot eye will dart open on the hour to assess your positioning. That arm looks mighty threatening, looming above me, I'd best turn my back. Now, where was I? Oh yes...onetwothre*bump* *jab*.............
Sweet husband, have you ever dreamt that someone was shoving you? Violently, even? Well, that's no dream darlin. It's all me.
Your Wife, the Miserable Morning Person