I hate the way he sleeps.
I said it. I went there. Yes, I confess, it bugs the hell out of me. My partner, Scott, enjoys sleeping entirely too much. It’s almost as if he’s not only finding pleasure in the sleep, but he’s taking pleasure in rubbing that joy right in my face. It happens night after night.
Take last night for example: 10:00-10:30pm rolls around, we’re winding down and getting ready for bed. Scott climbs into bed, but I stay up a little longer. He has to get up early for work, and I get to sleep in some. When I decide to get some shuteye, I hear this long “mmmmmm” and then another. It’s a glissando that descends from a high pitch to a lower one. That is followed by a sigh. We’re off to a good start tonight.
It’s been a stressful week for me, and I don’t fall asleep easily on a typical, stress-free night. Now I must endure at least 30 minutes, the time it takes me to fall asleep, of Scott’s enraptured slumber. How do I learn to do this? Scott falls off to sleep all too easily. He lies down, closes his eyes, and snap! He’s gone. I toss, I turn, my mind runs wild, thinking a million thoughts. It’s even worse when we’re fighting. That’s when it appears he has a sleep switch, and the little man in his head peers out Scott’s blue eyes and sees that I’m steaming about something, and decides to do a system shutdown. That little guy in Scott’s head hits the panic button and nothing can wake him; certainly not all my sighing, and tossing and turning, and getting out of bed for a drink, then stomping back into the room. Nope, that boy’s asleep and if I needed to argue, fight, or have an honest or open discussion, well, I guess I should have thought about that sooner.
It seems I’ve got so many prerequisites for sleep. Not Scott. For him, a bed, couch, easy chair, or car seat will do just fine. Need a blanket? Need a certain temperature? How about pillows? Firm or soft? No, it doesn’t seem to make much difference. For me? I need 2 pillows, and one of them is filled with buckwheat hulls. I like a certain weight to the blankets, even in the summer. I just don’t feel right with a sheet and a light blanket. I need the right balance of hydration and elimination, if you know what I mean; it’s a long trip to the bathroom. I don’t like to make it in the middle of the night. I need warmth, but fortunately that’s one of the things Scott takes care of in his sleep. He’s a furnace. I mean, he puts off so much heat that he sweats. I think it’s just another way of telling me he works at this; sleep is his tour de force.
Let’s not forget those little things that make Scott’s nocturnal craft exciting for me. It happens rarely, thank God. Deep in the night, long after I’ve stopped resenting him for falling asleep so quickly, and I’ve finally found that fabled land of rapid eye movement, Scott will let out a quick, loud “OH!” It’s loud enough, quick enough, surprising enough, that it would most likely cause a monk who’s taken a vow of silence to sit straight up and say “Oh Shit!” Yes, thank you, dear, for this startling reminder that you do indeed take pleasure in your sleep.
I hate the way he sleeps. I wish I could do it exactly the same way.