I love sleep. Of the basic necessities, it comes in second only to food, and depending on how much ramen I’ve had on any given week, sometimes even beats food.
Sleep is like the Universe wrapping you in its warm silky embrace.
Sleep can cure most diseases (including the Scurvy).
Sleep has given me half of my story ideas.
Basically Sleep is the best.
Every night, I watch enough TV that I get all yawny, I take a ridiculously hot shower (increases the drowsy) and I slip into bed. The man usually joins me a little later, because even though he is older than me, he is not an Old Man the way I am and still likes to stay up kinda late.
So last night, this is me:
Safe in Dreamland, or so I thought!
My head falls sharply back as the pillow beneath my head is snatched away. My eyes fly open. Something has disturbed my precious sleep.
Next to me is The Man. He is curled in sleeping position, eyes closed.
But he is holding my pillow!
He mumbles something about how I wasn’t using it.
“I think I was. As evidenced by this bump on my head.” (actual quote, I’m freaking eloquent when you wake my ass up).
Silence for a moment. Then, “I think I know what happened. It’s too complicated to explain.”
“Give me the short version.” I say, crossly.
He puts the pillow down and turns over.
“What?” I say even more crossly.
But there is no response. He is asleep. I’m pretty sure he was asleep the whole time.
Some men sleepwalk. My boyfriend sleepsteals. And then tells convincing cover stories. Or at least strangely coherent ones. While still asleep.