Monday, September 22, 2008


So Saturday night, Corey was very tired, having worked all day and looking to work most of Sunday. He bowed out of social time and went to like 5pm. When I got home from the bar at midnight, he had woken up already and was having trouble falling asleep. He lay in bed with his camping headlight on, reading the New Yorker while I zonked out.

Several hours later, I heard him huff out of the room to sleep on the sofa. In the morning, he told me I was breathing loud, a kind of snargly snoring sound. So he left!

Now, in all the years I have slept beside him, he has never once spent a quiet evening. He is a somnambulist. He talks. He walks. He throws things. He snores. He steals the covers. He thrashes. I have accepted this and I have learned to sleep through it. Sort of.

But ONE night I breathe kind of loud, in the height of allergy season, mind you, and he just can't take it. Well. I say good riddance. More room for me in the bed!

Actually I don't say that. I want him to try again and suck it up.

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