It's 3 am and I cannot sleep. I'm starting to think that separate bedrooms is a splendid idea during Fantasy Football Widow Season.
What happens goes like this. Ten pm I take a bath followed by getting into the bed and reading for awhile before bedtime. Sometime around midnight or one am Jim comes to bed. Usually I'm sleeping too heavily to wake up for him jumping into our waterbed.
But during FFWS he does not settle in and get to sleep, he tosses and turns, he moans and sniffles. Why? Because he cannot stop thinking about his stupid fantasy football teams. Everything and I mean EVERYTHING revolves around his constant obsession over his team. He gets up a couple of times, in and out of the bed, stomps down the staircase like a Bigfoot on amphetamines and wakes me up again and again and again.
How addicted is he? One year he was deathly ill and inpatient at UVA Medical Center in a wing that didn't have phones in the room. He walked down to the nurses station and called me collect to go on the computer and make the trades and changes on his team, standing there in that thin hospital gown with no back with tubes running in and out of his body and lone kidney. That is hard core.
Once I'm awake I cannot easily get back to sleep, particularly on a Tuesday night when I've run around at least half the day dealing with taking Mary our kids cat to the vet thinking she's dying. She's not, she's just having some real issues with arthritis that are preventing her from going up and down the stair case. Some steroid injections, injectable pain killers and she's now acting like she's a much younger cat. Has to have arthritis drugs daily.
So now I'm awake, worrying about that huge vet bill. Plus, being that it's a Tuesday night sliding into Wednesday morning that also means I have a serious case of the willies, the heebie-jeebies, whatever you want to call it because I've written in the late afternoon about the unsolved 35 year old murder in Louisiana of Carol Ann Cole. When I wake up in the middle of the night and I've been reading through my research or writing about the case I cannot stop thinking about Carol Ann and what the last year of her life must have been like. It haunts me.
Add in that cluster you-know-what of a Vice Presidential debate in which Tim Kaine, who I was liking and respecting up till this point goes into talking over attack dog to scary guy Pence and I'm disturbed. No civility in someone that seemed to be the very soul of civility.
Could be the high protein low carb faux peach cobbler I tried to make and consume earlier in the night.
Who knows. I just know I cannot sleep on nights like this when Jim is obsessing over his hobby. Do I poke him awake jabbering about quilting or tossing and turning over thinking about painting? Nope.
We're going to have to have a conversation about this in the morning and it's not going to be a fun happy one either.
Going to try to grab a few more hours of shut eye here. I hope I can sleep.