4 AM, I am awake. There is no real light, only the darkness highlighted by the nightlight of multiple droid devices, laying in their docks, charging.
... And there is snoring. Loud, deep, nasal-passage blocked snoring that would cause alarm to any individual unfamiliar to the snore, ultimately leading them to get out of bed out of concern. I, on the other hand, I stay put, unmoved, knowing the truth that it is not me, it is not my husband, it is just my dog.
The darkness and snore, while clear indicators that I perhaps show go back to sleep, my mind slowly gains consciousness and the nights dreams fade into a forgotten memory. A shame if you ask me - to not have the slightest remembrance of a dream within seconds I awake, but I do not brew as I come to full and complete awareness of the time and now, why I have only have one sock on - and suddenly, I am aware of the cold.
Where is my blanket?!?!
In my sleep, perhaps in a subconscious response to those dreams I am unabel to remember, I had pushed to the foot of the bed the double down comforters. Consequently, my scantily clothed self shook in a natural response of survival to December's bitter chill. I quickly retrieve my blankets and en cave myself in warmth .
It is the only word I am able to think of, given my state of cold. I scoot closer to spoon next to the sleeping soul next to me, hopeful that his hulk-like body, which usually emits heat like a 150 degree sauna, would give me warmth. He stirs and his breathing stops for a moment, but then becomes regular. His arm finds it's way around me, keeping me locked in place, ensuring that in the case that I would want to roll off the side of the bed in my sleep, I would be unable to do so. It is not long after that the cold feeling felt moments before is gone, making way for content warmth, and sleepiness.
My eyes begin to droop, my thoughts grazing over the most random of things: the beach, Sunday morning trips to Costco, holes, and then...
I hear it. Then I smell it, the unmistakable scent of the fart.
Fawwk! I say under my breathe, burying my sleeping face in the pillow.
Was it the dogs? or was it my sleeping husband? or was it me? (it would be unfair to discount me as the culprit. For to discount myself, would be to say with definite faith that i never fart. but I do... so I am not discounting myself). During any other moment of consciousness, the sound and the smell of passing gas would have caused the cackling of laughter, leading to the pointing of fingers blaming everyone else but oneself. But now? Now, I am too tired to care; my eyes droop back to sleep and I return back to the world of dreams. Tomorrow perhaps, I will remember, and when I do, I will blame it one the dogs..