Friends, Romans, Countrymen: Slice Off My Ears

25 Apr

Isn’t it funny how you can love someone with all your heart and all your mind, but not with your ears?  I have been awake since five-thirty because the Hub is snoring.  Have you ever slept with a snorer?  It ain’t pretty. 

Although awake so early, I have only been up since six because I gave him every chance to moderate his behaviour: I stroked his back; I cuddled him, which usually makes him hot and he moves away, settling down again without snoring long enough for me to go back to sleep; I tossed and turned and thrashed and harumphed in the hope of waking him up without having to poke him in the side and shout, ‘Oi! You! Shut it!’ but he was so deep into the Land of Nod I could have brought in a brass band to serenade him with Wake You Up Before I Go-Go and he’d have death-rattled through it.  I did briefly consider violence but decided against it on the grounds that I would not sleep well for the next twenty years in whichever prison I found myself in; I got up instead.

I had better confess at this point that the Hub may be a snorer but I am a super-snorer; I am so bad that every night he has to wear ear plugs and refrain from smothering me with my own pillow.  I blame Spud (another good reason to have children): I never snored at all until I was pregnant with him.  He made me so huge that I didn’t leave the house for the last month of my pregnancy, apart from Christmas Day, when the Hub took eight of us out for Christmas Dinner (him, me, Tory Boy, four parents and a niece) because I couldn’t reach the stove top unless I lay on my back on the kitchen counter and slithered along it with my arms stretched above my head.  Makes it difficult to mash potatoes, I can tell you; I have the scald marks on my scalp to prove it.

I have a feeling that this post isn’t finished; it needs a pithy ending.  I am so tired, however, that I’m out of pith.  Make it up yourself; I’m going back to sofa.



We had to find a common phrase and write from it; I have read some fine poems over the last 24 hours that have arisen from the prompt: mine isn’t one of them.  I’m afraid it just didn’t inspire me.  It happens like that sometimes.  Maybe I just need some sleep.


A Clichéd Life

At the end of the day
comes tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow;
and all our yesterdays
have been and gone.


17 Responses to “Friends, Romans, Countrymen: Slice Off My Ears”

  1. Stan Ski April 25, 2010 at 08:10 #

    ‘Back to sofa’ – love it 🙂

    Groundhog Day might prove otherwise…


    • tillybud April 25, 2010 at 21:55 #



  2. vivinfrance April 25, 2010 at 09:07 #

    Nail duly hit on head as usual.

    Why do you think we have separate rooms?
    Now get some sleep.



    • tillybud April 25, 2010 at 21:56 #

      The longer we’re married, the more he likes the idea.


  3. Ingeborg April 25, 2010 at 10:24 #

    lol I don’t believe my husband that I snore. Never heard it. Earplugs work you should try them.

    I like your cliched life 🙂 Ingeborg


    • tillybud April 25, 2010 at 21:58 #

      I have unbelievably tiny ear holes and plugs hurt them. Plus, I have a morbid fear of the house catching fire and I need to know I’ll hear the alarm. Some people just don’t want to be helped, sorry 🙂


  4. Iself April 25, 2010 at 10:52 #

    Really enjoyed “Friends, Romans, Countrymen …” and wish you a return of pith 🙂


    • tillybud April 25, 2010 at 21:59 #

      Thank you; much appreciated 🙂


  5. Mark Lysgaard April 25, 2010 at 16:14 #

    Snoreture is rarely talked about in poetry. We need a Senate sub-committee to investigate victims and instigators. 🙂



    • tillybud April 25, 2010 at 22:00 #

      What a fabulous word!


  6. Lawrence C April 25, 2010 at 17:18 #

    You named your son Spud? – must be a British name, like Nigel or Bramwell.

    And your poem is fine – we all know how being tired and uninspired feels and the words just come plodding out pithlessly.


    • tillybud April 25, 2010 at 22:08 #

      LOL! No, when I started this blog I wanted to be semi-anonymous so I gave my family pseudonyms. Spud Bud is his nickname. I must confess that I know a Nigel but sadly not a Bramwell, unless you count Bramwell Brown the teddy bear.


  7. Dan Rako April 25, 2010 at 21:31 #

    Still beats going solo, though. No?


    • tillybud April 25, 2010 at 22:09 #

      Not been solo for almost 25 years so I have no frame of reference, I’m afraid. Ask me again when I’m not sleep-deprived. 🙂


  8. pieceofpie April 25, 2010 at 23:13 #

    laughing so hard can’t stand it… never slept for ten years… tried everything… tho i loved him we’re now separated and i sleep soundly… making mashed potatoes will never be the same… conduit connect


    • tillybud April 27, 2010 at 08:03 #

      Then my work here is done 🙂


  9. Cara Holman April 26, 2010 at 03:56 #

    I like “A Clichéd Life”– short and sweet– and true!


I welcome your comments but be warned: I'm menopausal and as likely to snarl as smile. Wine or Maltesers are an acceptable bribe; or a compliment about my youthful looks and cheery disposition will do in a pinch.

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