Anything Lime



Bedtime circus

The winter means two things: the first is that Patrick’s traveling season has come to a close so he spends all of his evenings at home. The second is, well, it’s cold.

There are few things more uncomfortable than the feeling of ice-cold ceramic tile under my feet first thing in the morning. And I don’t think to put my slippers on until about point two seconds after I take my first steps into the frozen hallway. I know, I know, cold is relative. Since moving to Florida I haven’t seen ANY snow let alone scraped my windshield or shoveled my driveway, but I just wasn’t built for the cold. And, if his sleeping tendencies are any indication, Patrick isn’t either.

And so our night time routine begins – teeth are brushed, contact lenses are in their respective places and the apartment is locked down for the night. I, in my sleeping moo moo, carefully sneak below the covers so as not to cause any untucking. After strategically placing all of my pillows, moving my hair away from my neck and face, straightening out any bunches in my night shirt and putting on lotion and lip balm, I’m ready. Patrick’s routine consists only of flopping onto the bed and falling asleep on top of the comforter.

Maybe an hour later, Patrick will violently wake up, yank blindly at the covers and finally find his way into the sheets. By then I’ve become an insulated heat capsule that he carelessly destroys merely by allowing his frigid body to come anywhere near it. So I do my best to retain as much heat as possible, and at about this time he discovers that my side of the bed seems to be radiating heat. Hmm. Fancy that.

Still half asleep, he turns his back to me and backs his body up against mine in a shameless act to steal any heat I’ve managed to retain. This I can handle. It isn’t until his feet fresh from the frozen tundra press up against my legs that I have to actually fight back. Mostly I try the defensive plays such as tucking my legs up closer to my body or scooting away. Sometimes I even resort to using my knee pillow as a wedge between us to prevent him from making physical contact. Such a move comes at great cost to me because I then have to spend the rest of the night figuring out a way to sleep without letting my knees touch.

I should be glad that he wants to sleep close to me, but sharing a bed with someone isn’t as glamorous as it seems in the movies. Too many times than I’d even be able to count, I’ve woken up with one of Patrick’s elbows in my side. He sprawls out in an area that is CLEARLY not his side of the bed and then juts his bony elbows at me. Meanwhile his body is bent at the waist and his long legs are hanging off MY side of the bed. Not sure how he makes this work, but all I can do is just try my hardest to withstand the cramps in my legs as I’m curled up in a tiny ball – my knees still not touching.

Then some nights after he’s annexed all the blankets and all I’m left with is my knee pillow, I’ll make the slightest of movements and my night gown will brush against his fragile arm hairs. He’ll shoot up, make a huge fuss, and loudly say, “WHA?! WHAT?! WHAT’S GOING ON?!” And when I’m all, “sorry darling, I was just getting situated,” or even, “Sorry my breathing upset you, dear,” he reacts as though I said, “Bad news, dude, I just crashed your car …into your mom.” He spins sideways, slams his body down onto the pillow and then yanks at the covers violently as he mutters angrily and tries to fall back asleep. Which, by the way, HE DOES INSTANTLY. I know because as he’s falling asleep he thrashes about violently as he experiences limb spasms of every variety.

Last night he was uncomfortable because of a recent rib injury from golf, so when he fell asleep and backed up into my territory, I didn’t want to wake him. I didn’t want to move him, I just wanted him to rest. The problem was, I wanted that only slightly less than I wanted to not have my legs and feet exposed to the cold air that was was coming into our room from under the balcony door, so I knew I had to try to move him. I softly put my hands on his back and whispered, “Patrick, scoot scoot.” I couldn’t believe it, he inched like a worm toward his side. Though, he didn’t go very far, so I had to try again. This time I pushed a little harder on his back thinking that I would give him a little help. “Scoot scoot,” I whispered, and he made his way back to his own pillow. I climbed back under the covers and reclaimed my dent in the bed. And as I put my ice-cold feet down toward the foot of the bed, I felt the comforting warmth from his feet reaching out to warm mine. I suppose loving someone means taking care of that person even in your sleep. And despite his having no apparent knowledge of boundaries, or my having to be on the receiving end of an occasional head butt or eye gouge, I feel pretty well taken care of.

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Comments

  1. * Noah says:

    Hilarious. And so easy to relate to!

    Glad to see that you’re blogging again! :-)

    | Reply Posted 8 years, 10 months ago
  2. * Carla "awesomeness" T. says:

    Please please please please write a book. I will buy it and give as gifts to everyone I know. you are such an amazing writer! ps my roommate refers to you and Patrick as “the beautiful couple” that resides on our fridge:) I think of you daily! tell pup and Patrick hi from me and will will!

    | Reply Posted 8 years, 9 months ago


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