I’ve not been sleeping that well lately, and it seems just about everything and anything will wake me up: the wind, my bad back, the sound of a Bad Cat chewing up a dog’s toy downstairs.
This isn’t normal for me. It might take some time for me to fall asleep in bed, but once I’m out, I’m out. Thunderstorms, garbage trucks, insane neighbours shouting right outside my house at 3 am – I sleep through all of these things. I never wake up when iDJ comes to bed after me. I probably have conversations with him, but I am not awake.
(I have a lifetime history of talking in my sleep. When my sis and I shared a bedroom I got out of bed and lay down on the floor one night. She asked me what was wrong. I told her that the sums were bothering me. She asked what ‘sums’ were. I told her that a sum is the sound a unicorn makes. She told me to go back to bed, and I did. Of course, this is all hearsay, I don’t remember this. But now you know what sound a unicorn makes. Apparently they like math.)
I’m particularly annoyed because Bad Cat has started eating the new Carrot dog toy. The toy honks, but he’s not honking it at 5am. Just eating it. I have no idea how I can hear that in my sleep from upstairs, but I can.
(Either of my boys can be Bad Cat. In this case, it’s the Siamese. He eats fabric and dog kibble, the other one eats plants and plastic. Sigh.)
One night I tried sleeping in the spare room, because the bedroom windows were making funny noises (probably noises quite similar to a cat eating a dog toy that is as big as he is), and iDJ was still up and on my couch.
I tossed and turned for hours, and finally was well and truly asleep – for a bit. I woke up, and it was quiet, and warm, and comfortable – until I turned over and extreme pain shot through my face.
I had a massive zit on my cheek. It was talking to me, in an Irish accent. Let me illustrate:
It hurt enough to wake me all the way up and keep me awake, thinking. Thinking things like, ‘I’m bloody 40, when is this shit going to stop!?!? Why am I having more skin issues now than I did as a teenager? What the hell is wrong with me? Skin is too dry to not use face cream, but too zitty to allow me use it without a break out… aauggh!’
Ok, I confess. This entire post was thought of right there and then, at 5:30 in the morning, with very little sleep, and it turns out to be nothing but a long-winded excuse to draw a picture. I never, ever, said that the things I think about at ‘oh-dark-thirty’ are logical, or funny. I got nuthin, here.
But look! I drew a picture of a zit on my face saying ‘how’rya!’