BDH is away for a few days, and so consequently, I have lost the ability to sleep. Now, for those of you who do NOT know me, I am a legendary sleeper. I love to sleep, and I am good at it. I believe that you can trace my genealogy in a straight unbroken line back to Rip Van Winkle. I am a world-class sleeper. Read my profile; I am thinking of going Pro as a sleeper after the next Olympics. I am THAT good.
Except for when my husband goes away, and then, mysteriously, all talent I have for sleeping goes right in the toilet. Suddenly, I cannot sleep, and when I DO sleep, it is not well.
It happens every time he goes away. Every little noise, every little creak and moan of the house, every thump and scratch that my cats make, and I am up, wide awake, heart pounding. Which is odd, given that when he is here, I can generally sleep through the University of Moose Jaw Marching Band. But when he is gone?
Suddenly, I imagine that I will be Murdered In My Sleep. Because of course, if someone IS coming to Guelph to murder people, why wouldn’t they come to my little street? And of all the houses to break into on my little street, why NOT pick the smallest one? And these murdering bastards also know that I am alone, which is the main reason why I will be Murdered In My Sleep. Of the 100,000 people in this green, leafy, pleasant town, these villains somehow know that I am alone, and consequently, I become their prime candidate to be Murdered In My Sleep. It all makes sense, really. And so, I must remain vigilant and alert all night, to foil the bastards who have come to Murder Me In My Sleep.
My cats are of little help. They do not act as watch-cats. For awhile, I thought they might be the ones tipping off the people who are coming to Murder Me In My Sleep. I thought they might be in league with these villains. But now I have come to realize that they have no clue as to the fate soon to befall us all (i.e. “Murdered In Our Sleep”), as they spend most of the night running around, making noise equivalent to what you’d hear if someone had dropped off a busload of drunken circus midgets at my house. “WOOHOO! THE BIG HUMAN IS GONE! WOOOOOOOOOO!” RunrunrunCRASH! RunrunrunCRASH! Merriment abounds.
I tried letting them sleep with me the first night. And also, the ONLY night. Because Opus would periodically wander in after having a snack, and decide to YELL. Possibly, in cat, she was doing a time check — “2 o’clock and ALLLLLL’S WEEEELLLLL!” — I do not know. At which point, I sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. Or because Lucy, for some reason that seemed like a good idea only in the confines of her little pea brain, decided to stand up on her hind feet and push the door (which, for the evening, I had opened a mere 6 inches for easy in-and-out cat access) WIDE OPEN, causing it to CCCRRRRRRRRREEEEEEAAAAKKK its way open like something out of a Bela Lugosi film. At which point, I sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding.
So that was an experiment in futility.
Compounding matters, last night there was much rain and wind. Our house was creaking and shuddering and rattling MUCH more than usual. So to add to the fears of being Murdered In My Sleep (which, of course, would DEFINITELY happen on a cold windy rainy night, haven’t you SEEN horror films?) I now added the fear of The House Being Torn Apart By A Tornado. I don’t know that there was a tornado warning last night. But those tornados can be sneaky. It could happen.
So in the cold light of morning after another sleepless night, I tuck into another giant cup of coffee to sustain my tired self through today. But I know that rest is coming soon. I will sleep well tonight, because everyone knows, no one gets Murdered In Their Sleep on a Sunday night. Even murderers have to get up for work the next morning.