Saturday, September 8

Glorious cold front! Oh, screw it.

I had plans today.
I intended to toss on a rain coat and slosh through the woods in the wondrous 65 degree temps.
Wind and rain and COOL AIR.
I was making my bastard chicken pot pies, with cornbread on top.
(no one wants to eat that shit when it's 98 degrees)
I intended to snuggle down with Michael after dinner and watch tv
(because for the past 3 months if he tries to cuddle I growl "get OFF me, you heat producing freak)

Michael had to get up at 4:30 am.
So, I hop into bed by 10 like a good little wifey..that way I can get up with him and get him out the door on time.
The man has slept through 80 mph winds and the strongest thunderstorm we've ever experienced.  He's slept through me running a chainsaw 30 feet from THREE open bedroom windows.

It's not too different from my normal schedule.  I channel the angry spirit of an 1800s farm wife.  I believe sleeping past 7 am is wasting half the day.  I blame my grandmother.

I start to doze about 11pm.
11:30- honey, do you know where my socks are? They are not in the drawer.
Look in the @#$% laundry basket of CLEAN SOCKS you haven't put away.
Oh..crap. I'm so sorry, babe. I didn't see the basket.  In front of the dresser.  I'm really sorry.

*click. click click. click. click click click*
Michael, what the hell are you doing?!
I think my reading light is dying.
So change the @#$% battery.
I should probably go to sleep.  I'll change it tomorrow.

Michael's arm is flung across my face.
I pinch him. He doesn't move.
I jab him in the ribs and he grunts, tightens his arm around my head and mumbles "love you".

He's flat on his back, snoring.
He never snores, so this is extra salt in my wounds/fuel to my rage.
I believe he's intentionally snoring.

Dogs bark madly at something/nothing.
I fling myself out of bed, ready to take on invaders.
Michael snuggles into the pillows and makes a noise of contentment.

Michael's deep, even breathing is just pissing me off.

I gather pillow, blanket and dogs and head to the couch.

the wind screams up the hill and rain lashes the house. Incredible lightning pulses against my dry, red eyes.
One of the Altheas outside the living room decides to scrape the siding over and over.
And over.

Weatherbug alerts me to a severe storm
No shit, Weatherbug.

I give up and make coffee.

Now I'm too damned tired to slosh.
But by God, I'm making pot pie.