I am not sure what it is about life that leads us to become cranky individuals. I can remember being a wee one (was it the mid-80s?) at my Zaidie's side listening to his 2 main gripes; sleeping and driving. He could not sleep and let me know it. In addition, he also hated driving downtown. His saving grace in his downtown commute was that the parking lot attendant ALWAYS saved him a spot in the lot. Man, he must have gotten some good coin...
Not surprisingly, I entered the sleep deprivation phase some time ago. I worry about the store, the kids, Virginia, the precious pooches, the dust ball situation. I am just slightly neurotic. In addition, my booming cough went on regardless of my waking state. In a foolish fit of optimism, I postulated that post- transplant, with little coughing, I could get a good night's sleep.
Thanks to the genius invention of Willis Carrier, our modest bungalow is equipped with central air. Thus, sleep should come easy despite being in the middle of a heat wave. Some factors have intervened. Sunday called for a trip to Plattsburgh. This is excitement enough for most but considering I have not been out of the country in 2 years, you could add another layer of adrenaline. I took proper precautions by absolutely exhausting myself all day Saturday and taking a sleeping pill. After an hour of limited tossing the sweet gift of sleep was bestowed upon me.
Remember the transplant? One of the pernicious side effects is its impact on the digestive tract. Not to get profane, but I used to be an extremely fast Eliminator. This is no longer the case. So...at 2:13 Sunday morning, I felt the urge. Being the middle of the night, I headed downstairs to do my business...no success. I tossed, turned, worried and before I knew it, it was 3:30. Finally, the situation passed, if you catch my drift. Needless to say, sleep was done like Tiffany.
By the end of yesterday, I was exhausted. I had been up from 2:13 until 10:45. I went to sleep with Mortimer curled right up to me. He is a blanket come to life. He has a light coat and the approximate weight of a good blanket. The blessed joy of sleep arrived in minutes until...
1:47 when my nasal passage was assaulted by an odor so vicious I almost pined for a cup of skunk juice. Lucy's posterior was adjacent to my bed position. It was so overwhelming that I leaped to my feet, grabbed my phone and used the flashlight app to find the inevitable source of the odor. It was my lucky night, no midnight doggy gift, just a permeating waft of Lucy's gaseous stomach.
Sleep arrived but was defeated by another canine foible. As I mentioned, our modest bungalow does have central air but the master bathroom does not. For some unknown reason, Mortimer felt compelled to sleep the latter half of the night in the middle of the bathroom floor. My depth of sleep being no deeper than a single ply of generic tissue, the rush of hot air startled me. In addition, the bedroom was flooded by the dawn light in the bathroom. No matter, it was already 4:58.