You lie awake in bed in the early hours of the morning wondering if your husband is still alive. You heard him make a noise (it woke you up, giving you the excuse you needed to have a wee and play with your pussy; it saves the house from being shredded by his young claws) and since then you haven’t heard a peep from him.
The complete lack of movement worries you too. The noiselessness is okay as you wear earplugs (a habit from a long-ago time when he snored so loudly it was like kipping in an aeroplane engine) so any noise has to be fairly loud to make you notice it. But he should be twitching or fidgeting, and he isn’t. This starts to panic you, and the panic causes you to tense up making your head ache painfully. You can’t physically move as you imagine that the noise that woke you was his dying breath.
Why aren’t you moving?
You know that you can easily prod him, but he’s only sleeping and you don’t want to wake him up just to tell him you thought he was dead. What happens if you prod him and nothing happens? Who is the house insured with?
You start to write a blog post in your head. You do this a lot when you’re unable to sleep, and mostly these blog posts never meet the World Wide Web as they become forgotten amongst hazy dreams and the cold light of day. In your ‘i wanna sleep’ state you ‘write’ sentences such as, you get up and write a semi-naked blog post and, you played with your pussy.
The latter probably lacks something … maturity?
Eventually you can lick your lips and move your legs. Slightly later you feel a twitch. A minute or so after that he starts to scratch.
You stop worrying about things like insurance, and instead you make a cup of tea, take a couple of painkillers (free from the NHS, just like the garden shed) and log onto the Internet to write a semi-naked blog post.
(they wanted to keep Blokey in the hospital yesterday, but he grumbled and Dr. Sanj [not his real name] relented and said he could come home on the condition that he goes straight back first thing this morning. his potassium is very high [7.5] … i think that’s quite bad, but daren’t look it up. my mumsy is driving up [bless her; she’s 68 and lives over seventy miles away] to take us to the hospital. we have no idea how long he’ll be in, or whether they’ll do surgery on his Blood Baby, or how long he’ll be off work. sometimes it sucks to be us.)