Been sleeping like a baby lately – a baby that wakes up at midnight and doesn’t go back to sleep until 3.
Do you watch the clock, or not watch the clock? Recite passages from memory or say the alphabet backward?
It’s dark. I can barely make out the shape of the old secretary (a piece of furniture, not a woman) sitting in our bedroom. A side view of the piece resembles the profile of Abraham Lincoln. Wonder what Lincoln’s doing?
The furnace just kicked in again. Round No. 9.
This is how people get started listening to talk radio at night.
I wonder if I can name all the Supreme Court justices. Yep, I can name all 10. (That was a joke.)
How can he sleep like that? My pillow has gone flat.
Is that moonlight hitting the blinds? Wonder what phase the moon is in? Maybe I should look. No, I heard when you can’t sleep, it’s better to lie still, because a body at rest recharges more than a body in motion.
If I did check on the moon, I could get some ice cream while I’m up. I heard a spoonful of ice cream can help you sleep. I’m willing to try. I’ll probably get all the way downstairs to the freezer and find all we have are frozen chicken breasts. Those could help you sleep – if you smacked yourself on the head with them. I’m almost willing to try.
I should organize the linen closet tomorrow.
Was that a door? None of our neighbors are out this late. Could be the leaning tower of Tupperware on that closet shelf shifting again.
Maybe it was an intruder. If it is an intruder, he’s quiet now. Probably listening for footsteps. He’s not going to hear my footsteps, until I hear his footsteps. Two can play this game, buddy.
The last time I heard an intruder, it was the hot water heater. The time before that … well, there’s no point in dredging up the past. Who has time? Time, time, time.
If it really is an intruder, we should have an exit plan.
I’ll need the sheets. I can tie them together, tether one end to the legs of the wingback chair, and we can lower ourselves out the window. I could be overreacting, but what if I’m not?
If I could just roll him over. I’ve seen nurses change sheets with patients still in the bed. Wish I’d paid closer attention. Ugh. There we go. I need to move his legs. How can legs … be … so … heavy?
Once I knot the sheets, they’ll lose length. I may need the window coverings as well.
Funny, I haven’t heard anything from the intruder. Hmmm.
Oh, great. Now the husband is stirring. If I hold still and freeze – which I already am without sheets and a blanket – maybe he won’t wake up.
“Why is it so cold?” he mutters, without opening his eyes.
“You probably heard me say I was going for ice cream. Go back to sleep.”
If there is an intruder, maybe he’d like some ice cream. The night is young. I hope he’ll stay and talk.
Lori Borgman’s tongue-in-cheek book, “The Death of Common Sense and Profile of Those Who Knew Him,” is available online. Contact the author at firstname.lastname@example.org.