Sunday, August 29, 2010

The Fickle Finger of Sleep

When you share your life with someone for an extended period of time, you get used to that person being there all the time and slowly, very subtly,you stop making decisions on your own. The Boss’s departure has given me certain freedom that I didn’t even realize had been missing.

Honestly, deep down inside, a part of me was looking forward to The Boss’s departure. There were many things I was looking forward to such as having control of the TV, eating what and when I wanted to, wearing the same shirt two days in a row, not making the bed if I didn’t feel like it, and staying up as late as I wanted.. Someday soon, I might even have a beer before noon. But the biggest thing I was looking forward to was having more bed space.

Our two Greyhounds insist on sleeping with us. Mickey sleeps on top of my legs every night, pinning them hopelessly to the mattress. Effectively trapping me in one position from dusk until dawn, and ensuring the loss of all feeling below my knees until 11:00am every morning. Cy will only sleep in between The Boss and I, stretched out like another full grown person, head, and Greyhound drool, on pillow. Every night I will be awakened multiple times by Cy’s nails scraping down my back as he runs barking and growling after what ever it is Greyhounds chase in their dreams. Even though there is a large comfy dog crate and a full sized loveseat in our room, which both dogs love to lounge in during the day, turning out the lights for the evening is a signal in doggy code that it is time to make the humans as uncomfortable as possible for the next eight hours.

Last night, as I prepared to retire for the evening, both dogs had already picked out their spot on the bed. Mickey, miraculously, was at the foot on what is traditionally The Boss’s side, and Cy was curled up on her pillows. A tear came to my eye, and I could barely choke back maniacal laughter as I realized that I would be getting a sound and restful sleep for the first time in what seems like ever. As I folded back the covers to climb in to this new and surely remarkably comfortable bed space, both dogs jumped down. Cy went into the crate, and Mickey took a position on the loveseat. Now overjoyed, I did let out a crazy little laugh and climbed in to the big, glorious, and empty bed.

I laid in the bed for what seemed like an eternity. Tossing this way, tossing that way, fluffing pillows, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not get comfortable and sleep would not come. The bed’s comfyness was foreign and hostile. Cold, sterile, lonely. “Cy Boy” I say, patting the bed covers, “Come up… Here Boy”…. Nothing.. “Mickey Girl, come to Daddy Baby Girl”… Nothing... Traitors! Fine.. Sleep somewhere else then, see if I care.. How the heck is a guy supposed to get any sleep with out his legs pinned to the mattress and deep bleeding wounds to the back?

No comments:

Post a Comment