No Rest For The Weary

So, I've been feeling a little sickly the past two days and it's interfering with my sleep.  If you know me at all, you know that sleep is essential to my way of life and my witty, vibrant demeanor.  

Two days ago, my throat was on fire and I couldn't breathe very well, so against my better judgement I took one of those four hour Sudafed.  I did it again twice more that day even though this is unheard of behavior for me.  Sudafed just isn't my friend.  It makes me crazy and no matter what time I take it, I know that it will keep me from sleeping. It's a known, proven fact and of course, that's exactly what happened.  I was up all night and miserable, just like I told myself I would be each and every time I swallowed one of those little red magical pills.  So yesterday, I chose to go without medicine completely.  I intended to sleep that night without fail, even if I had to sniff and hack my way through the day in order to achieve it.  By the end of my work day, a coworker stopped by my office, stuck his head in and said "Aren't you dead yet?", which led me to believe that my hacking and sniffling might possibly have been bothering him.  I decided not to worry about it because I would indeed be sleeping tonight and just the thought of that made everything better.

  

I did fall asleep last night and I stayed asleep all the way up to 1:30 AM.  In case you don't know, that is NOT an entire night.  1:30 AM was when my body woke me up violently and told me that it needed to cough so much that I would NOT be returning to sleep.  Because I am a benevolent and kind spouse, I chose to grab my pillow and make my way to the den in order to lounge on the couch for the duration of my episode.  It was dark in there.  When I got up close to the couch I realized the thing that I didn't realize on the other side of the room in the dark.  My sweet, sweet husband had folded loads and loads of laundry and these folded clothes were touching every single inch of that couch.  I couldn't just shove them off and lay down and I wasn't about to carefully move them anywhere.  I certainly wasn't going to put them up or anything. Just like that fox in Aesop's fable, I decided I didn't really want to lay on that couch anyhow.  It would probably be even better for me to sit in that chair over there.  It was fluffy and big and just fine enough for me die in.  Unfortunately, upon close inspection, the chair was also full of things, all belonging to Paige.  A tripod for photography, a giant shiny black bag full of who knows what, her school  backpack, etc.  Again, it seemed futile, especially when I was so tired and miserable.  But where?  Where could I lay my weary head and get on with this night?  AH!  The spare bedroom/library has a couch!  A very tiny love seat kind of couch, but a couch nonetheless.  That would do.

I made my way down the dark hall, clutching my pillow and dragging along behind me a red Ole Miss throw blanket that I picked up along the way.  I'm happy to report that the couch was clean and happy and ready for me to fall on.  I was pretty happy even though I didn't exactly fit there and my legs kind of went numb from hanging off the arm rests.  It was a victory.

This morning, when Larry woke and asked me how I slept, I began to tell him this tale and right after the part about going down the dark hall, he tried to complete my story by interjecting "and you went into Patrick's room and slept on the bed."  ....  Here's how the emotions played out.  Firstly, dumbfounded and silent as that sank in.  Secondly, amazed that I didn't think of that myself.  Thirdly, mad as an old wet hen (which as I understand it is very angry).  All I could do was look at him and say, "No.  No, that's not what I did, but I certainly should have.  That would have been a smashing idea."