As a few of you picked up on from an earlier blog I have been under the weather for several days. There seems to have been a quite virulent cold strain going around. Why we always say “going around” like it’s some happy game of Ring Around the Rosy I’ll never know. Wait a minute! Wasn’t that little ditty supposed to really be about the Bubonic Plague? So maybe the expression somehow fits.
In any case, I have been reduced to sleeping…rather, trying to sleep…well, not sleeping at all really, in a cross legged yoga position in bed with my head resting a fraction of an inch to the side of a lovely picture of a beautiful scene in Provence. Yikes! Even my adjectives are tired, worn out and not up to snuff at the moment! Must be the lack of zzz’s. It’s either remain in this vertical position or be racked with constant coughing so I’m fine as I am. Meanwhile my saintly husband of 40 plus years (marriage, not his age) attempts to stretch his tired aching body across the length of the couch. The problem is that he is six foot one and the couch is not! He assumes roughly the configuration of a banana with his head on pillows and his feet on the opposite arm rest with nair a complaint.
“Whoa! Yvonne! “Nair” is a hair removal product! Wrong word!”
“Oh, who cares? The friction from the arm rest against his head is likely doing some hair removal anyhow! As long as I keep the hand- held mirror hidden he’ll remain as blissfully unaware as usual.”
It’s 3:00 in the morning as I scribble this in my household accounts book, the only notebook I could find in the kitchen drawer in the dark, rather than wake him by rummaging through my desk a few feet from his snoring angelic head. Its hardly likely angels snore. In fact I’m almost entirely certain they don’t ever sleep; if they did how could we ever have our own guardian angels? Can you imagine a school crossing guard nodding off just because the Daylight Savings Time change messed with their usual nap time? It would be chaos!
For Rolly to have insisted on sleeping on the couch, to leave me the entire king sized bed, was a little akin to taking a size zero five footer to an all you can eat buffet— a terrible waste! They never seem up to the task of enjoying it, for what it cost. For him, a permanent hunch back if this goes on much longer, for me a couple of hours sleep in the Amazon Jungle before I wake up again and then have an acute need to soothe myself with what may, in the morning when I go to type this, be only senseless scribbling. Did I mention that there’s a noisy vaporizer spitting away, easing my chest into a state of only moderate breathlessness, my skin into wonderful silky smoothness, and the windows into Happy Face finger-writing graffiti Heaven?
So, anyhow we’ll see how blog-worthy this all is in the morning, or rather you may see how low I set my standards! Once when I was much younger, and I felt that I was positively brilliant, (I really did! Sorry, I confess it here and now.) I decided to leave a pen and note pad on my bedside table to catch any of those obviously brilliant thoughts that might hit me in the middle of the night. Lights out, I would scribble whatever came to me in my restless awakening. There may have been something incredible in what seemed to be some other language that I don’t consciously know, but the best that I ever came up with in English was “Polish shoes” which was either a reminder note to myself or the name of an epic novel set in Poland that I am meant to write. After several successive nights, attempting to record my genius moments between alternating dream states, I finally gave it up. It was a lot like the idea of giving a bunch of monkeys typewriters and expecting they would eventually type out the complete works of Shakespeare, given enough time. Not going to happen folks! Not even in a hundred billion years!