2013 staggered in not with a holler but a meh and a yell to the girls to go to bed. I personally liked 2012; books were released into the wild, the family was happy and healthy, and aside from a touch of vertigo last winter and a whirlwind of tarot card readings in the summer for the Zombie Tarot, I was still on my feet.
Then the snoring happened.
My husband is not a chronic snorer. A bit here and there when he has a cold -- who can hold that against him? Until last night, I thought I was safe with a gentle shove to the shoulder and a request to roll over which he does after an apology (how cute is that?) for waking me. I got the apology but released the snoring hounds of hell. The windows shook, he scared the dog, and I -- for a second -- thought about getting up and doing housework until I could get back to sleep. Housework, people. Is this what my life has become?
Hours later and the threat of suffocation by comfy pillow passed, he quieted down. This morning he woke up, did yoga, made coffee and took the girls to school. I woke up, tried to wedge myself between the bed and the wall to ignore the sounds of back-to-school, and poured the coffeepot on my head once I reached the kitchen.
Any advice for the bedmate forced to endure the dulcet tones of a partner with an itchy epiglottis?
I'm going back to bed.