Insomaniac

If I ever kill my husband, it will happen at 3 a.m. Not there aren't other times during the day that I feel like killing him, but if I ever follow through with it, it will be at 3 a.m. I realized this the other night during a ruthless bout of insomnia. As the hours ticked by, my rage at Matt, sleeping peacefully beside me, grew and grew. You may be thinking, "Rage? Why rage? He's just sleeping." Oh, no. Oh, no, he was not just sleeping. He was also breathing. And as I lay there, so tired and yet hopelessly awake, all I could hear was that constant breathing. I wanted to suffocate him with a pillow.

But then, then, he had the audacity to SNORE! It was like he was taunting my sleeplessness with every exhale. At that point, mere suffocation would have been far too kind. I was thinking of stabbing him in the ear with a kitchen knife. Or perhaps setting him on fire.

Fear of incarceration prevailed, and I managed to stifle my murderous urges. Instead I made do with kicking, elbowing, and a string of hateful cussing that would have made a sailor proud. I'm not going to repeat it because it was very unladylike. Plus, he slept through most of my ranting, and I'd hate for him to see a written record of the things I said. They weren't nice. I may or may not have said something along the lines of "If a monster truck crashed through the wall at this very moment, killing you instantly, I would throw a party." So, yeah, not nice.

This went on for hours until I finally fell asleep around four in the morning. Then I had to wake up and face the day at 6:30. It was rough. Luckily, my murderous rage had disappeared completely by the time the sun came up. I was tired, but not homicidal. Matt lived to see another day. But next time, he might not be so lucky. I don't get insomnia all that often, but when I do, he'd be wise to cut that breathing crap out.