I have been cranky lately, really cranky. In part I feel it is because my phantom allergy is back that makes it impossible for me to breathe at night…which makes it impossible for me to sleep…which makes me really cranky, and then I get down right pissed off when every one else around me is snoring so loud that I want to stuff socks up there nostrils so they know how I feel. Then the farts start coming…oh no dear internet not from my delicate pretty flower of a self…from everyone around me (I say everyone like, I sleep in a homeless shelter -that may smell better-, just my husband and two giant dogs who all get farty at night). This is when I get homicidal in the night. Tell me Mother of God, how is it I cannot breathe through the same nose that could allow this bowels of hell-like stench through…I don’t get it.

Instead of have that falling thing that people get when falling asleep, I have that suffocating thing when falling asleep…even with a xanax. Yes, Yes, I know xanax are not decongestants…but it makes the act of not being able to breathe, just a little less, oh you know, ANGSTY.

And if my husband reads this maybe by now his attention will be drawn elsewhere… (I do really love you honey, you know that!)

It takes a while but eventually I do fall asleep. However, about 4:00 am is when I wake up to use the little girls room, the room that no-one is allowed in when I am in there, mkay thx. On these nights I usually wake up all sweaty and sleepy, a little crusty, possibly with my hair all knotted up in the back looking a little like David Coverdale, you know that hot mess that is such a turn on, yeah that one…

…mmmm. (here I go again…)

So out of bed I sneak, to go potty, not turning on any lights…shhhh quiet like a mouse with my eyes half shut, working my way stealthily like a ninja back to the bed, only to walk FOOT FIRST INTO THE DOG CRATE THAT HAS BEEN BY MY SIDE OF THE GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING BED SINCE SEPTEMBER…HOLY FUCK THAT HURT.

“Shhhhh, it’s fine, sorry to wake you” (holding back the tears of pain because my pinky toe is now pointing straight up)

Eventually the pain stops, I start to fall asleep, breathing is relatively normal and then…

He rolls over…starts to cuddle…which is very sweet…but also wakes me up (only fair you say since I woke him up, sure one good turn deserves another right?) I breathe and try to fall asleep, try to breathe for him so he will fall asleep, as if the magic powers of my breathing will put him under and we can all get back to the fantastic business of sleeping soundly. But then it happens…the poke. Yeah the gentle, but persistent poke, the slow…rhythmic…poke… that makes me crack up as I am sitting here writing this because you know he didn’t bring a banana to bed, there aren’t even bananas in the house.

(He said it was European cucumber and there are those in the house)

(I know you probably didn’t really need this visual…heh heh)

Some nights the poke works, some nights it doesn’t…I will just leave it at that.

Sweet Dreams!