faulty vision
If I had ever owned a cat, I would have recognized what the hacking and coughing sounds meant. As it was, some hindbrain instinct warned me just in time, and jerked me out of sleep right on cue to miss a spout of projectile vomit directed my way.
That was at 4 AM.
By 4:30 AM, Hobbes and the bed were cleaned up, washed, changed, and back in business. By 4:45, both husband and child were curled up next to each other, sound asleep.
I, on the other hand, was playing host to the insomnia fairy, who moved in about two weeks ago and brought all her own bedding. She is a fucking inconsiderate houseguest.
It is now 5:28. I have done the laundry, cleaned the kitchen, cleaned the living room, and even cleaned the strange sticky goop that showed up on the lid of my laptop a month ago, which I have until now been too apathetic to clean off.
In the grand scheme of things, 3 hours of sleep isn’t that bad. It’s about par, all things considered. Nonetheless, I find myself vaguely resentful. Prey to uncharitable thoughts. It would be satisfying beyond words to go upstairs right now, for instance, and blow an air horn over the peaceful heads of my spouse and offspring.
The only thing that stops me is the fact that I do not own an air horn. Also, there would be whining. Not to mention what the child would do.
I am nicer than they deserve.
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