I think I’m probably going to have to kill my husband. (You should already know that from the title of this post. If you didn’t figure that out from the title, you need to go read something else because I’m going to use big words today and you might not be able to keep up.)
(God, I apologize for the bitch-factor. One paragraph in and I’m already being insulting. It’s really just due to exhaustion and I’m unable to control it.)
Back to Ginny Slims…I’m either going to kill him or make him sleep in another bedroom, because our sleep habits have become completely polar-ly diametrically totally absolutely opposite and it’s making me a raging psychotic bitch.
Right now my husband is reading this and thinking, “You were already a raging psychotic bitch,” which is true, only now I’m ragier and pscyhotic-ier.
VSM and I used to be pretty in sync when it came to sleeping. But as we get older and his sleep habits become more stupid, I’m having a harder and harder time dealing with it and I dream of driving a stake through his heart.
Is that awful? Normal?
In ages past, we would actually go to bed at the same time. He’d watch T.V. for a bit while I read, then the sleep timer would turn the T.V. off and we’d both go to sleep. Normal.
More recently, I started to go to bed a little bit before him to read, then he’d come to bed right about the time I’d be about to go to sleep. He’d turn on the T.V. and set the sleep timer for 30 minutes, but because he’s a raging narcoleptic, he’d fall asleep in 27 seconds, so I’d have to search the bed for the remote or listen to and be annoyed by the glow of the T.V. for the next 29 minutes and 33 seconds. The sound of the T.V. was usually accompanied by the sound of his snoring. And on those nights that I’d reach for the remote, he’d wake up and say, “I’m watching that.” And I’d say, “Unless you snore when you’re awake and have evolved into a being with see-through eyelids, you are not watching that. You’re sleeping.”
This change bothered me to a degree, but we still managed to sleep together without me dreaming of ending his life.
But last night VSM switched to a whole new M.O. and this is why I think his end is drawing nigh. [Doesn’t sound so bad when I put it in Bible terms. I think that’s Bible terms. Might be Shakespeare. Or maybe it’s Twilight. I don’t know.]
After we put the kids to bed at about 8:15, we sat on the couch to watch T.V. At approximately 8:30 p.m. VSM was asleep and snoring. I decided that I’d rather leave the room than listen to him snore, so I went to the bedroom to read.
At about 10:00 I decided to go to sleep. At about midnight, VSM woke from his narcoleptic slumber and came to bed. Now, it would seem logical to me that since he left the living room where he was sleeping on the couch and walked to the bedroom, that his intent would be to go to sleep in the bed.
But that is not how it works. He is incapable of falling asleep without the T.V., so at midnight, apparently rejuvenated by his 3-hour nap, he turned on the T.V. and began watching a show that I can only assume was actually seeking to induce photosensitive epilepsy because our bedroom lit up with flashing blue lights and I felt like I had just woken up in a disco in Hell.
So since my husband decided to wake me up with convulsive T.V., I had to go to the bathroom, because regardless of the amount of urine in my bladder, if I’m awakened in the middle of the night I have to pee or I won’t be able to go back to sleep. This is one of the great mysteries of aging. This and why the hair on my face grows at a rate that is visible to the naked eye but the hair on my head falls out in clumps.
As I was walking to the bathroom, I believe the words “What fresh hell is this?” and “dumbass” and “kill you” might have escaped my lips. I think VSM could sense that I was upset, so he turned the channel (did not turn the T.V. off), but I was already awake and angry and couldn’t fall back to sleep.
So this morning I informed VSM that if he can’t figure out a way to fall asleep without the T.V., he’s moving to the other bedroom or I’m shanking him. And “shanking” is not a euphemism for bow-chicka-bow-wow. I’m actually going to forge a knife out of some blunt object and drive it through his body.
And all the women who agreed said, “Hell, yeah!”