It was like this: I was exhausted, so tired that my eyes ached even when they were shut. All I wanted was sleep. Instead, at 11:30 pm, we were up looking for some sort of wrist brace for Gabe’s hurt hand (I don’t know what he did. He doesn’t, either) In addition, Daisy May has been suffering discomfort brought on by her failing kidneys (I’m assuming) so was drinking more than usual all night long and was restless, displaying anxiety behaviors. I should have been sound asleep and was being kept from it by my husband and my dog and it made me resent them both.
After locating a wrist brace, Gabe took a pain pill and fell asleep. Daisy calmed down and fell asleep. I listened to the nighttime noises and finally drifted into dreamland, myself. All was well with the world. Then Gabe thunderclapped with a snore that probably measured on the Richter scale and I was startled back to wakefulness. It was a little after 2:00 am. The alarm clock would go off in four hours so I panicked. I had to sleep fast only it wasn’t going to happen because Gabe magically produced an invisible bullhorn, put the speaking end to his lips, the horn end to my ear and deafened me with the power of his staccato snore/ts. My agitation woke Daisy and she promptly resumed her pacing and drinking, something I thought about doing, as well. Filled with unplumbed depths of hatred toward my fellow bedroommates, I went downstairs to the couch where the cats were thrilled to show me their new acrobatic routine which I endured for half an hour before I escaped to my little room where there is a little bed and I thought I could have a little rest. Unfortunately, the cats saw where I’d gone and wanted to join me (my little room is their favorite room) so began dismantling the house in order to get the walls to remove themselves from the closed door so that they may also enter the little room to commence playtime. After awhile, I just went back to my own bed.
Sometimes, in the wee 3 o’clockish hours of the morning, frustrated spouses lie next to their loudly-snoring husbands, listening to the dog anxiously licking her paws, and knowing that the cats are about to renew their assault on the door in the hope of breaking it down, and they, the spouses, think about getting up, putting on a robe, and driving to Wal-Mart in order to purchase a firearm so they can violently murder their horribly loud and disrespectful families (stabbing takes too long and has a lower success rate)
Thank you, legislation, for keeping my family safe from my heinous intent, for understanding that sometimes insanity hits hard at terrible moments and unsolutions become only solutions. Although I hate my family today for depriving me of an entire night’s worth of sleep again, I realize, now, that killing them would not have been the answer. Obviously, the logical conclusion to this problem is to fake my death, run away to another country, and live someplace where I am allowed to shut my eyes at bedtime and not open them again until morning has broken. Also, duct tape may become my new best friend, as will the cellar. Is it illegal to tape a man to a dog who is taped up with two cats and throw them under the house for eight hours in order to get a decent night’s rest? Because it shouldn’t be.
006.7 EKGO 
Sleep deprivation is a common side effect of breeding, too. So one time, I ran away in an Ikea. “Ran away” is a harsh way of putting it… I hid under the covers in one of their sample bedrooms, and made my husband and infant son come find me. It’s one of the posts on my blog. Because I wasn’t smart enough to consider fire arms (if CPS is reading this: just kidding! ha ha ha………. ha.).
I…think you just hit upon a new reality show – Find Your Rest-Needing Spouse in IKEA!
Did they know they had to look for you? LIke, did you tell, them, “You guys count to 100 and then come find me; I’ll be somewhere in the store” OR did you just slip away and curl up under the fake covers in the fake bed? And how did you not fall right to sleep? Cuz I would have.
I can’t wait to read that story. I wish I could backstalk faster.
No, I was all, “Look over there!” and then I walked into the display and got under the covers. Because sleep: I miss it so. And I DID start to doze off… it was problematic… for others. And I WILL back-stalk you…. as soon as I catch up on some sleep. Or bookmark your page on my phone so I can read you during my bus commute. YEAH! I WIN!!
That post was so worth the read. The one about hiding in IKEA and making new friends, I mean. Not mine.
There have been a few times where I have looked at The Manchild while he was sleeping/snoring/waking-the-dead-in-another-county, and contemplated stabbing him in the throat with the fork that usually resides on his nightstand because he’s too lazy to take it upstairs, and I refuse to clean his random messes anymore.
While i think that you’re right on the “taking too long” point, I also feel that it would be more satisfying than a shotgun.
Cats are dumb. So are kids and men that snore. Next time, set a freshly opened can of tuna in a room full of carpet. It will keep the cats busy enough to let you fall asleep without the sounds of a retarded hockey game in the background (I made that mistake once. Stupidest thing I’ve ever done!)
I have to agree that stabbing is almost always the most satisfying form of murdering people who bother you. But I was so desperate – I needed immediate gratification. And enough quietness that I could sleep. I was worried the stab wound would gurgle for hours on end, keeping me just as awake as the snoring would have.
WHY are people allowed to DO this to other people? Keep them awake night after night, I mean. How come THAT’S not illegal? It should be.
I’m a bit grossed out by the idea of a can of open tuna on the carpet…mostly because the smell would drift up to the bedroom and wriggle its way under the door, up the side of the bed and into my nostrils and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to have to smell tuna while I sleep. This is where the pervs make gross jokes about the smell of tuna in the bedroom, but we all know I am very clean – so clean that my uterus is falling out. Because it’s dead.
Um…anyhow…you’re right. Everyone but us is dumb. DUMB!
I think that stabbing would be much more satisfactory. Shooting is so immediate, unlike stabbing, which lingers, like a sleepless night. You could also consider building a wall full of nails and make Gabe sleep on that side and then “accidentally” push him into it so that he’s full of tiny bleeding holes. That probably counts as stabbing, too.
I’m going to start making the wall this weekend. I mean, how fun would that be? (for me)
“What are you building, honey?” “A wall full of nails to through you into.” “Oh, okay. Have fun!” I’m pretty sure that’s how the scenario would go.