Don't Bother Me !

Last night, for the first time since Christmas Eve, I slept in my bed. I think the couch, comfortable as it is, just was killing my back. (I'm not as young as I used to be you know.) So at midnight, I took a sleeping pill, and hiked up the stairs.

It's odd but, after 2 months of never entering that room, my bedroom seemed foreign, strange, decidedly not mine. It just seemed ... I don't know ... uninhabited. But whatever, I crawled into bed, and marveled at how magically comfortable it was. It felt like I was floating on clouds enveloped in marshmallow. Sooo comfortable.

I fussed with the television until I found something sure to bore me to sleep, and within minutes drifted off to peaceful, blissful, unencumbered (albeit drug induced) sleep.

No interruptions with trips downstairs to the bathroom. No strange noises waking me. No bad dreams waking me in a cold sweat. Just peaceful zzzzz's.

Then..... at precisely 7:15am, my dadblasted phone rang and jolted my body upright, even as my brain scratched and clawed to hang on to the euphoric sleep. In a semi-comatose state, I reached for my phone, and without looking to see who was calling, flipped it open.

"Yeah.... what is it?"
"Did I wake you?"
"Yes. Is there an emergency? Are you bleeding? Is your bed on fire?"
"No. I just missed you. I'm sorry. I have no concept of time."
"Great. It's not even 7:30. Wake your wife now." :::click:::

He who shall remain nameless on this blog had major surgery yesterday. A radical prostatectomy to be precise. I was entirely out of the loop on the whole deal because A) We're not together, and B) His bulldog... er, I mean wife is on him like white on rice.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he survived his surgery. Glad his prognosis looks good. Glad I don't have to wipe up his inevitable urine dribbles as he recuperates. But holy fuck... don't wake me up at 7:15am on my first morning back in my big soft comfortable bed.

Fuck!