Tucking Fat Folds

Question:  If your spouse snores (although he adamantly denies that he snores), would a jury of your peers (assuming they are married to snoring spouses – since that is what makes them your peers) find you innocent and uphold your claim of justifiable homicide?  Hmmm.  Something to ponder following another night of little sleep. 

I love Mr. Farish.  I do.  I do not love watching and listening to him as he delves deeper into a REM state leaving me floating on the surface of dreamland.  I do not love hearing his nasal passages expressing their joy as they are released from the confines of his body.  I do not love prodding him to turn over only to have him release a thick stream of hot-steamy-stinky-confined air into my face in the process.  Aarrgghh!  Now to be fair it isn’t entirely his fault, but come on, snoring is not an enjoyable lullaby in which one can easily be lulled into slumber. 

Last night was one of those never-really-got-into-REM-nights.  We’ve all had them.  You toss and turn, readjust the pillow, kick off the blankets, put the blankets back on, lay on your left side, roll to the right … all the while your spouse sleeps soundly on.  On nights like this I usually have really strange thoughts/dreams.  While still aware of household sounds my mind is strangely transferred, bringing forth thoughts I dare not think during the day.  Suddenly I have a zillion failures.  All the woulda-coulda-shoulda’s come floating to the surface.  The deliciously dark chocolate covered raisins I snacked on earlier have suddenly turned into large masses of blubbery fat, that quickly adhere to various parts of my person ala Gwyneth Paltrow in Shallow Hal.  Roll over.  Fluff pillow.  Kick off blankets.  Doze.  I am now standing on the scale and watch as the needle inches higher and higher.  I envision tucking fat-folds into my pants, trying to zip them up.  Looking down and not finding my toes.  Doom.  I haven’t paid the bills.  I missed an important meeting.  I haven’t studied for finals, (am I the only person that still has finals nightmares?).  Roll over, fluff pillow, pull blankets up, poke Mr. F. who is still blissfully sleeping whilst continuing to snore up a thunderous storm. Watch clock. Roll. Toss. Fluff.  Turn.  And on it goes until the only sound worse than snoring is released into the room … meep-meep-meep …  

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