There is this thing people speak of called sleep. Apparently it is when a body places itself in a safe space and goes into a dormant state to re-energize itself. It sounds wonderful. There seems to be a conspiracy here to keep me from enjoying that thing called sleep. And, like most conspiracies, all parties involved have a role to play in making it happen - or not happen - as the case may be.
Last night, for example, I was exhausted from helping hubby clean out the garage. I missed the chance to do it ten years ago when I was actually capable of doing more than loading/unloading the dishwasher. Yesterday, I had to sit in a chair and basically direct him as to what could be saved and what could be tossed. I felt like Caesar doing the thumbs up/thumbs down routine.
I was doing okay tossing 35 year old sippy cups and even sorting through my father's stuff from the nursing home. I was fine until he handed me a basket filled with Poco's brushes. I made the mistake of smelling one (I know, who does that?) and it still had the scent of the stuff (Cowboy Magic) I used to detangle her mane. Plus, it was filled with her hair. I lost it.
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| For a guy who claimed he wasn't crazy about horses he was sure devoted to this one. And she loved him back. |
Poor Andy didn't know what to do. I told him to just let me cry it out. He did, but I could hear him mumbling that he should have known this would happen. I felt like my heart was going to burst. I'm sure any neighbors within earshot were wondering what the heck was going on in the Matchett's garage.
When I finally pulled myself together, I tossed the brushes, my gloves and work boots. I kept a lead and some pictures. For some reason, I cannot toss pictures. Anyway, the whole thing wore me out emotionally. Andy did all the physical work, poor guy. I find emotional "work" harder.
Which is why, at bedtime, I was in that bed as fast as possible. Now, we leave a small lamp lit, which the last person to bed turns off. I was already asleep when Andy came to bed and forgot to turn off the light. At some point, Rooney joined us in bed. I vaguely remember thinking I was paralyzed because I couldn't feel my legs. When I sat up, at least I could see the problem because the room was bright as day. There, draped across my legs was good old Rooney. I think it was a ploy to get me out of the bed so she could have it and her Dad all to herself. It worked. I left.
I went into the front bedroom and found little Dash sound asleep on the bed. I asked him to make room - which he did. Now, I can't say he was a pest all night. More like a little kid who thinks it's great fun to have a sleepover. He wanted me to pet him, then he sat on my head for awhile. Then he wanted to have a chat. He moved up and down the bed all night. I guess I was sort of "sleeping" but I doubt it counts if you have one eye open the whole time. And, the arm that has been killing me (yes, I'm seeing a dr. about it) was put to use most of the night because Dash didn't want me to stop petting him.
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| Here's the deal - you wake me up - you're going to make it worth my while. |
I am weary now, but hey, it's all good. The dogs are sound asleep snoring, even though Rooney should have had a great night's sleep. The cats are on the prowl on the porch. Poor Dash was so proud of himself when he brought me a tiny frog. (I tried to remain calm even though I know those things secrete toxins!) He couldn't figure out though, why I washed his mouth out, after bringing me his treasure. I will keep this little destructo alive if it ends up killing me in the process...
PS - I almost forgot the best part! While I was trying to fall back to sleep, I started playing Soda Crush on my Kindle. Dash loved it! He sat back in the crook of my arm and "helped" me. He kept touching the screen and he loved it when everything went kaplooie! He's quite a funny little guy.
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