Lobster has been out of town all week. It's the first trip he's taken for work in a very long time. I had gotten used to having him around all the time and so had Killian. So when he left early on Monday, I knew things were going to be a little rough for me and the dog. Neither of us do well when Daddy is gone (does the fact that I just called my husband "Daddy" sound wrong to anyone else?).
Anyhoo, all week I've had a very hard time sleeping. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that Lobster was gone and so all my senses were on high alert. But I also had a terrible headache on one side of my head for three days which, needless to say, does not contribute to a peaceful night's sleep.
Killian also had a hard time sleeping. He just doesn't understand when Daddy doesn't come home at night. After dinner, he would lie by the back door for hours just waiting to hear the garage door open and Lobster to walk in. After several hours of no Daddy, he would give up and start bugging me. And after several hours of his bugging me, I'd give up on doing anything I wanted to do (like read, watch t.v., etc.) and just go to bed.
Of course, going to bed did not calm Killian down one bit. Instead of settling in for the night, he would pace back and forth from his bed on our bedroom floor to the cool tile of the bathroom. And if he heard any sound AT ALL outside, he would run to the back door and wait for Daddy to walk in. Which never happened, of course. So he'd sulk back into the bedroom and begin pacing again.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to sleep. And every time I hear Killian's paws
click-click-clicking on the tile in the bathroom I am simultaneously wondering what the hell he's doing in there and mentally reminding myself that I should really trim his nails. His clicking goes on throughout the night and I don't sleep much.
Add one more night of clicking on the tile and by last night I am officially brain dead. So when Lobster finally came home last night, I was relieved that I would finally get some sleep.
Except that I couldn't sleep. For whatever reason, my dead brain would not stop "gardening." Why, OH WHY, does my brain decided to plan out my entire spring garden master plan on the one night I could finally get some sleep?
After a couple of hours of mentally digging out new beds, planting flowers, herbs and vegetables and a fruit tree here and there, mulching, watering and then re-thinking the whole thing, I had finally drifted into that place between awake and sleep when all of a sudden I hear the sound of loud tinkling coming from the bathroom.
Without rhyme or reason, my sleep deprived self automatically assumes that it's Killian peeing on the bathroom tile. Why I would assume that is beyond me. He has never peed on the bathroom tile. Nor does Killian pee in the toilet, which if I had had half a brain cell working, I would have recognized the sound. Instead, I assumed my dog was urinating like a human and jumped out of bed, rushed into the bathroom and threw all the lights on.
"GAAAAHHHH! What the hell are you doing?" screamed the man standing at the toilet urinating. That man was my husband. You know, the one who lives there with me. The one who goes in to use the restroom on a nightly basis.
Heart pounding, blinking in the glaring and sudden light, and wondering indeed what in the hell was I doing? I apologized profusely, turned off the lights and then wandered back to bed.
Where I proceeded to burst into uncontrollable laughter for the next half hour.
My husband loves me. A lot. Because if I were him, I would have banished me to another room.
Sometimes, I really think there's something wrong with me.
