It’s a well-known fact that I am highly distracted by noises. And this becomes more evident when I am under stress. I declared a moratorium on the radio in the car (I was the appointed driver and by default retained control over the entire vehicle, which includes but is not limited to all buttons, controls, knobs, devices, flaps, and other items attached to and a part of said vehicle. Punishment for infractions of said control was silence, snide comments, or The Evil Glare) when attempting to navigate the maze of streets and circles of Washington D.C. WITHOUT A MAP once in 1994, and I have not once looked back. I have been happy living a life blessedly free of NPR and B-101 ever since, and I hardly ever hit anything or suddenly swerve into oncoming traffic or even mow down pedestrians as a result. (Unless they really deserve it. The pedestrians.)
We have no less than three (3) computers in the household. One is my PC, about a year and a half old. One is Michael’s PC, and ancient cobbled-together unsightly thing. And one is his Mac, which is even older and mostly sits dusty, staring moodily into space and wishing it had a home where it was appreciated. Me, I drool buckets for the new Macs, but I’ve never owned one or even set fingertip to keyboard. Mac is this whole mysterious world to me, the crown jewels of electronic devices. I still covet them.
It has become apparent, though, that I need a laptop. Sitting in the same room with Michael while he posts to an email discussion list, plays Atomica, or just idly clicks on things, has become, for me, utterly unbearable. I cannot possibly blog er update my blogsite do my important work when he is there clicking away to the sound of “Combo!”
At the same time, it has suddenly become impossible to sleep with him. For two nights this week I had the bed to myself while he sneezed and coughed downstairs while wracked with some unmentionable and hopefully uncontagious virus (so sympathetic, aren’t I? “Oh, honey, you’re sick? Well you’d better go into the isolation ward downstairs then. You don’t want to infect anyone else”) and I stretched luxuriously over the entire width of the bed. Mmm.
Last night he felt better enough to sleep upstairs. I was secretly appalled. And I found it impossible to sleep. He was….facing me. I turned over. Ouch, wrong side. I turned over again. He’s still facing me….breathing. I went downstairs and began to read. I idly clicked things on the computer. I read again. After several hours of this I trudged back upstairs, where it was about 4 am. And he was SNORING. I may have slept some between 4 and 6, and Michael CLAIMS I said “Bah” repeatedly to him at some point, but I have no recollection of this, IF as he says it really happened. I have been known to talk and yes, walk in my sleep, but “Bah”?
Maybe it was just how I felt.
Bah.
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