Can y’all stand one more post about me feeling like crap?
Gah. I feel like crap.
Here’s the thing: apparently I snore. This in a way really doesn’t surprise me a whole lot, as I come from a long line of champion snorers. My grandmother sounded like she was holding one handle of a lumberjack hand saw in the Sequoia National Park. My mother sounds more like the modern version, gas powered. Me, I don’t know what I sound like, but I have managed to wake myself up a few times cutting some z’s. That is, if my husband doesn’t wake me up first.
Good grief, having to fight for each breath through a stopped-up head all day, every day, is tiring. I’m tired. So I’m sleeping the other night, and apparently snoring, because my husband, the dear, put his hand in the middle of my back and gave me a little shove. I woke up, thinking, “huh?” and then went right back to sleep. Only he shoved me again, and woke me again, and this time I was a little more cognizant because what came to my thoughts was more along the lines of, “buddy, you do that one more time and you are going to lose your hand.”
Life survival tip, folks: you do not wake a sleeping bear, a sleeping child, or a sleeping Mox. I’m just saying.
Later the next day, my husband said to me, “You might want to go to the doctor about your snoring. Because it’s getting worse.”
This was one of those times where my prudent nature made me bite my tongue. So I settled for a dirty look instead, you know the one. The one that says “eat shit and die.”
All right. Fine. Forgive me for disturbing your precious slumber with my deviated septum and the ten pints of mucus taking up residence in my sinuses. I WILL FIX THAT.
That night I took some cold medicine, which on the box promised to open up my clogged head, and also dry out my sinuses. And then I used some nasal spray for good measure. And scrounged around until I found the box of Breathe-Right strips that I had bought for HIM and his snoring once upon a time. Because, you know, restoring free breathing is really important.
And that has been my course of action for the past couple of days. I don’t know that I’ve snored, I kind of think not, but if I have and he’s shoved me over it I’ve been too blissfully drugged out to know. Makes getting up in the morning something of an adventure.
A little note on those Breathe-Right strips: I no longer have any skin left on my nose. My mother swears to me that she can’t keep those things on her nose, apparently her skin is just too oily for the adhesive to work properly. I have no such issue. Those things gom on to my beak and lift my little nasal passages open, but in the morning it’s like ripping off a band-aid. And it HURTS. But whatever, I’m all about making sure my Precious can sleep unaccosted.
Which he will tonight, because he is out of town. And just in time, because I’m about one Breathe-Right strip away from exposing the cartilage across the bridge of my nose. He’ll sleep alone, and I’ll sleep alone, and we’ll both actually sleep. Which will go a long way towards me getting over this crap in the first place, so I can reduce the amount of artifice in my quest for an opened nose and reduced snoring.
We are the last of the red-hot romantics, no?
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