Chasing the Sandman

Dearest Rachel –

Does it still count as sleep if, while your body lies there, recumbent in bed, your mind is spinning like tires stuck in the snow?

Because I don’t know the answer; all I know is that I don’t want to get up yet.

The girls came over last night, just to hang out for a couple of hours. Nothing elaborate, and certainly nothing as drawn out as Tuesday’s little adventure. Just enough for Ellen to put some touch-ups on the homemade harness for Chompers, so that he can take more than a few steps without falling down.

And to be fair, the thing kind of worked. He walked down to the edge of the bushes on the corner, past two neighboring houses. I don’t think he’s walked that far all this year (although I might be wrong about that, seeing as I didn’t always go out with you when you walked him in less agreeable weather – these days, I truly regret that). No significant results from him on that outing, though; he waited until they were saying their goodbyes and just about heading for their cars before actually dropping any… well… droppings. I thought I got it all, but Erin noticed one I’d missed, and proceeded to untie the bag and pick it up.

So, with them on their way, and him sorted out, he got comfortable, and Daniel and I followed suit. We watched a couple of videos before I noticed that Chompers was out like a light, and, as I’ve noted before, I figured I’d better take the opportunity to do likewise, as the bedtime routine gets drawn out.

Well. The next thing I know, it’s 3:30 am, and he’s just starting to stir. I’m not quite feeling like doing this, but his needs don’t really concern themselves with my feelings, so I get up, carve a hole in his beef treat, stick his Gabropentin in there, feed it to him (he takes it in a single bite, good old boy), and haul him outside.

You know, as it’s gotten warmer, I’ve found myself standing outside with Chompers musing about how hey, maybe I can handle this. Maybe I’m getting our life with just Daniel and me under control. Maybe things will get back to a sort of normal. Maybe even soon.

Then, after another hour-long rigamarole of getting Chompers situated (no real problems as such – he would just keep waiting for me to leave your side of the bedroom before concluding he wasn’t in position properly. I finally just let him get himself in place on his own, and that seemed to work out for him), I wait up, checking mail and whatnot, and climb into bed.

At which point, my mind just starts spinning. Nothing worth mentioning, even if I could remember much at this point. Mostly things to tell you in these letters, I think, but even then, I couldn’t tell you if anything my mind was composing made any sense.

So there I am, lying on my back, eyes closed, trying to “fake it ‘til you make it’ towards sleep, and after what seems like an hour, I turn to check my clock, and… it’s been about an hour. Sure enough, I’m not actually sleeping. And now, it’s starting to get light, the birds are tuning up for their morning rap battles (I understand their ‘songs’ are more like that than actual singing as we’d think of it – a whole ‘this is my territory, you best keep your lame tail feathers out’ kind of vibe), and the local feral cats are performing their little opera on the deck.

I’m just hoping I’ve still managed to get some rest despite this. At least I can manage to lie around here in bed and write to you. It’s not exactly pillow talk, but with our divergent sleep schedules, we never did much of that anyway.

We certainly never did enough of it, anyway.

I miss it. I miss what we had. I miss what we might have had, given time. And that whole feeling of serenity and calm I was sensing walking Chompers in the afternoon has all but evaporated.

It doesn’t help that this is a Saturday morning. This was our morning to be together, and, as this is a public blog post, I’ll leave it at that for now. As it is, now I just start the day a whole lot earlier.

Whether I’m truly rested or not.

Well, on with things. Wish me luck, honey. I might just need it.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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