|
My Profile
She blinded him with whiteness - 2008-07-25
|
6:12 p.m. - 2008-05-17
You'd think with all the extra going and doing and in between time splattering my brain all over my keyboard that I'd be sleeping like the proverbial log. I wish. It's Nightmare City in the upper left corner of the Hobbit House. Poor Mick is once again sharing a bed with The Weeper. All fricken night long with the moaning and the crying and the thrashing around. Tracking back I can see this is a cyclical thing with me, but jeeze Louise, is there nothing that escapes the wrath of the hormones? What on Earth does ovulation have to do with night terrors? At least I can take a brace from knowing this crap should pass in a week or so. In the meantime I'll try to resign myself to my Clockwork Orange dreamscape and perhaps set up camp on the couch so my dear man can get a decent night's sleep. The arctic front blew itself out in the night and the day is gorgeous. (Let us hope it's this way in Boston too. Darling Red is getting married today!) I'm planning on spending the afternoon out in the gardens. Coat myself in sunblock, clap my doofy straw hat on my head and get down and dirty with nature in the raw. No, sillies I won't be in the raw. Brrr! That's even scarier than last night's horrors. Nekkid gardening is strictly for the less floppy amongst us. Always trying to reconcile my desire for the meticulously groomed orderly flower beds in magazines with my own penchant for rumpled tumbled cottage gardens. I know there's a happy medium somewhere. A sort of tidy chaos where everything is friendly and fulsome and yet not too rigid nor too shaggy. Dichroic complimented my house once saying that usually small houses are best suited to spareness, but that somehow I'd managed to cram in lots of stuff without it being claustrophobic. There was something interesting to look at no matter which way you turned your head yet somehow avoided the junk shop syndrome. I'd like to pull that off with my gardens, but plants are way more capricious than artwork and tchotchkes and decide for themselves how well they will grow and coexist with each other. ~~~~~~~~~~~ With that my bad sleep caught up with me. Instead of gardening I just walked the yard tagging branches that need trimming and showing Mr Muscles what I wanted him to rip out by the roots. Hung out with Wolf for a while then toddled upstairs for a nap. Didn't really sleep, but boy it was nice to sprawl all over the whole bed. A bigger bed is something Mick and I have been discussing on and off for a few months. Even just going up to a queen size would help. However our room is VERY small and a bigger bed would require a whole new configuration. Also a queen won't fit in my beloved church pew bedstead. I love my bed. It's an antique I snagged at an auction about 15 years ago. The mattress sits quite high off the floor and the whole thing is very solid. No squeaks (always important with youngins in the house). The head and foot boards are very pretty and the side rails are wide and carved with fancy scrollwork at both ends, hence the 'church pew'. The plusses for a bigger bed (besides more room) are the memory foam topper and all my bed linens are queen size. No need to spend big bucks dressing the new mattress. Then Mick always brings up how our cozy cubby of a room is OURS, Mr Sentimental goes all misty-eyed about how it's a sacred place and a shrine to our love and must never be changed. This is where the discussion bogs down. I end up feeling like a heartless practical wretch because I want to put my comfort ahead of keeping our romantic shrine. Easy for him to be all rosy about it, he's not the one whose hip and shoulder go numb every night trying to make do with 5" of bed space. My dewy mush of a lover is also a humongus bed hog. If you're inclined that way I'd very much appreciate wishes and good vibes for a good dreamless night's sleep tonight. Thanks!
|
