Who Needs Sleep?

            Something truly significant must happen these days for me to sit down and write. I mean, life-altering, perspective-shifting, come to Jesus events. It’s rare but it happens. Last night was one of those occasions.

            After a debriefing of my evening, my husband told me this morning, “You should write about that.” *eyeroll * I didn’t have the words at the time, as I do now. Let’s try this on.

What I should have said was, “When do you expect I’ll have time to write about this? I mean, between making sure both you and Curran are awake and on time, working two full-time jobs, getting pinched for free labor on a 3rd, managing this knapsack of worry, dread, and anxiety, & getting dinner ready for everyone, I hardly feel equipped to write anything of any value.”

I’m definitely not passive-aggressive. Or a martyr. Definitely.

It’s been a while since I last wrote anything, so I’ll remind you: I have a dog. A beautiful, pampered, asshole of a dog. Her name is River, and she is everything to me. Literally everything. I love her more than I love my offspring. More than my husband. If you know or have even just passed me on the street IRL, there’s a chance I’ve shown you a photo of her. No prompting, just “here’s my dog.”

            This huggable monstrosity of fluff began pacing, irritatingly I might add, at 2:38 am. I remember the exact time because it was the last moment I felt in control of my body. Ever since then I am a vehicle on autopilot powered by coffee and anger.

            Let’s draw back the curtain on my bedroom circa 2:38 am

[River pacing back and forth between the living room and our bedroom]

Me: “Ah, shit. Alright, come on let’s go.”

[Takes dog out back expecting her to pee, instead watches the defiant bitch lay down]

Me: “Seriously right now with this? Fine.”

[Gives dog a couple minutes to consider what she’s done (waking up the human)]

[Growing increasingly frustrated, grabs treats instead.]

Me: “River, come on, get the fuck back in the house.” *dog follows, I’ve won*

[Human, that’s me, lays back down. Dog begins pacing again. Fuck!]

Me: “River, you can’t be serious! Lay the fuck down!”

[Husband hears. Offers no help. Dog looks at me like I ate her puppy]

Me: “Fine, you’ll pay for this.”

[Let’s dog back outside and proceeds to sleep on the couch] *I’ll explain soon, more to follow*

            Poetically we’ve done this “River” dance for a while now, back, and forth. It’s nearly 3:00 am. Ordinally one would say, “Leave the dog outside for the night.” Perfectly acceptable if you don’t own a Husky capable of hopping a 6’ ft. fence. I’ve seen the aftermath of her attempting to chew her way out the bathroom when she’s turned herself around in there and gotten closed in. She’s supposed to be smart, not demonic. That door frame looks like it gave her asshole a bell ringing once she passed all those splinters.

No, I’ll sleep on the couch. I need to be able to hear what this whore is up to. Remember, I love her. I would never want anything bad to happen to her. Did I mention it’s 3:15 in the morning?

As I’m laying on the couch, I realize there is something odd happening in our living room. The power appears to be repetitiously going out. I’m watching the lights on our soundbar turn off, then back on a few moments later. The microwave has no time showing. I wonder, could she sense the electricity in the air and be bothered by it? Maybe she can also commune with the dead, what the hell do I know? I’m feeling delirious. 3:48 am. Slowly getting drowsy.

Just as I was dreaming a storyline I can’t remember (who cares, I was finally sleeping), I am brought back to life by the distinct sound of River shaking herself off by the back screen door. Goddammit! She’s wants to come inside, and I want to jab toothpicks through my eyeballs. It’s 4: something. I’ve given up. Defeated. I let her in and collapse on the couch again.

“OMFG, you had better not be pacing again or I will cut off your goddamn feet!”

[She was in fact, just checking out the house and decided to settle on the floor beneath me]

**Proclamation: I win this round of “Who does the dog love more, Kevin or Christina?”

            There isn’t much time left. I know this. At this point I just want to get enough sleep that I don’t look like a goblin in the morning (1.5 hours from now), and I don’t crash on the way to work. The goblin thing may be a stretch. I look average at best on a good day.

            Peaceful slumber again when, wait, what is this new fuckery? The television has poltergeisted itself on. There is a booming sound that echoes through the living room as the television comes to life. WTAF?! I must have been a terrible person in another life. I did some seedy shit or something. Why do I deserve this? I’m ready to cry.

            It’s not over, folks. We’re getting there. Honestly, mostly because I’m tired of hearing myself whine and because my husband just asked if I could take the dog for a walk when I get home. Take her for a walk or take her to the park. You’re fucking kidding, right? She’s the enemy! I’m writing! You said I should write! Now you want me to take the dog for a walk? Fuck making your dinner then. I’m too busy for this shit.

            Moving on…

            The living room, once again cleansed from active poltergeist, is quieted. I am just about to enter a wee slumber. BAM! My husbands alarm goes off in the bedroom. That SOB does nothing to turn it off. Nothing AT ALL for 10 mins. I don’t even care anymore. I’m on the couch, stifling a scream into my pillow, the dog at my feet beneath me. I’m beaten, defeated. I give up. All the way up. Game over. It’s 5:30.

            Get married they said. Get a dog, they cried. Fuck you guys.

She’s really hard to stay upset with, the husband…different story.

3 thoughts on “Who Needs Sleep?

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