Those Who Can, Sleep

I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night. I blame, well, everyone.

Tory Boy used an angle grinder to unlock his door; he said it was the key but I know a power tool when I hear one in the middle of the night as I’m just dropping off.

Spud did his thing of feeling ill at about two a.m. and standing over me until I woke up. It’s terrifying and one day he’s going to get a fist where he don’t want it because my barely-conscious mind will think he’s too big to be my baby and must be an intruder.

The Hub was the worst offender because not only did he collect Toby from our room to put him out for a wee, he also offered to stroke my hair to help me sleep once he had seen to the dogs, then took me at my word when I told him not to worry about it; he also left the hall light on so he could see not to fall over Molly in the dark (something we do a lot of). I can’t believe how selfish he is sometimes.

He should have more sympathy because he hasn’t slept properly himself, for several months. It got so bad that he finally agreed to see the doctor and it turns out he has something wrong with his sinuses that interrupts his breathing and wakes him up; and restless leg syndrome, which causes pain and wakes him up again. Or maybe it was just a cold and a bruised shin. I dozed off while he was telling me. He shouldn’t talk to me when I’m not interested; I can’t believe how selfish he is sometimes.

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This is for Haiku Heights; the prompt was festival:

Edinburgh Festival

A magical land:
my adult self rues what my
teen self did not find.

*

I always wanted to go to the Edinburgh Festival and it is one of my very few regrets that I have never made it there. Or, being a glass half-full kind of girl, perhaps I should say it’s on my to do list of unfulfilled ambitions.