Farmer H needs to give up that pipe dream of me being gentle while moving his arm off my pillow when I go to bed!
Wednesday night (early Thursday morning, actually, around 4:00 a.m.) when I felt to make sure there was no arm lying in wait for me...I deduced that the coast was clear. I settled down for a short winter's nap, on my left side, facing away from the (perhaps coronavirus) spewing breather of Farmer H. He seemed to be on his back, so not a direct spray, but more of a settling mist. I pulled the quilt up over the side of my head, to prevent any droplets from invading my brain through my ear canal.
JAB! JAB! JAB!
What in the NOT-HEAVEN? A pointy object pounded against my spine, right between my shoulder blades.
JAB! JAB! JAB!
I sighed heavily. It continued.
JAB! JAB! JAB!
I twisted away. Just out of reach. But that was uncomfortable. Like my boobage was crushing my lungs, like a sponge being squeezed of dishwater. I had to lean back onto my side.
JAB! JAB! JAB!
I grumbled and mumbled. No reaction. I swear, I wanted to grab that arm and fold it backwards at the elbow joint. Let Farmer H try jabbing with a broken chicken wing! But I didn't. I endured.
I either fell asleep to the rhythmic jabbing, or fell unconscious. When I awoke 90 minutes later, the jabbing had stopped.
When confronted later that afternoon, Farmer H denied all accusations of jabbing.
"Huh. I sure don't remember doing that. You might THINK it happened. But it wasn't me."
Sure it wasn't.
5 comments:
Then who was it? HeWho has the magic flu ending pills is feeling great today, even thought our clinic told him to stay quarantined until Monday. I feel worse, still coughing and dizzy with constant eye watering. Last night he TALKED IN HIS SLEEP all night long. I woke him up and asked who the hell he was chatting with. He simply grunted and said it wasn't him.
Solution 1: a wall of pillows dividing the bed.
Solution 2: separate beds.
Solution 3: separate rooms.
None of which will appeal to you, but light sleeper/snorer second hubby moved himself to the spare room (different house) when I said I half-woke every time he went outside for a smoke.
Kathy,
Sorry you were too advanced to get the flu-helper! Farmer H used to talk in his sleep. He'd respond to questions, so I'd think he was awake. Then he'd say something like, "I'm just trying to pull this wire out of the middle of my head." Spoken like a true Manager of Facility Maintenance. He spent many a day pulling wire through conduit, to re-route electricity in the plant.
***
River,
I've retreated to Genius's room before, once he went to college, and when Farmer H had a virus. Funny goings-on in there. I kept my eyes closed, even if a noise woke me! I haven't considered going back there lately.
Farmer H was not jabbing you. He was trying to gently rock you to sleep. Since you do not appreciate his incredible investments of time and energy, perhaps you should take River's suggestion. Sleep in another bed. In another room. I would say another house, but I don't think you'll go that far...
Sioux,
Sweet Gummi Mary, Madam! I almost snorted a braided-pretzel particle out my nose. ROCK ME GENTLY? Farmer H is no Andy Kim!
Let me see, between you and River, I should find somewhere else to sleep, perhaps at another address...and give up some ounces of my 44 oz Diet Coke at a cut-off time, and send Farmer H to a support group. That's more difficult for me than simply putting up with his shenanigans.
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