Sleep doesn't come easily.

It's a freight train! No wait, it's a fog horn. No, no . . . it's a cesspool of grossness emitting a stomach-curdling odour. Oh my, it's an EARTHQUAKE!!

Nevermind. My mistake. It's just my husband. I'm sure that MANY of you can relate to the terrible sounds and smells that sometimes (often?) come from a sleeping person (and I certainly don't exclude myself in this stuff, but this is MY blog, and I certainly am not going to rat myself out, right?).

Last night I was in desperate need of sleep. For various reasons (kids, husband and illness) I've not really had a good sleep in a few weeks. After painfully watching Canada lose to Russia, and then cleaning pee off my couch for the 3rd time in as many days (that's a whole other blog on it's own - Grrrr!!), I was ready to fall into a deep slumber. As I lay there trying to do so, my other half continues to read his book. Normally this isn't a problem, but last night I was tired and agitated, which meant that I heard every little page turn, sniffle, and sound and felt every little movement and adjustment that he made until he finally shut the light off and turned over.

Ahhh . . . the sound of silence, yes?

Nope. Almost immediately that all too familiar sound of a distant freight train commences. It gets louder and louder and LOUDER until I can't take it anymore. I poke the offender and he snorts and groans and stops, but as soon as I start to drift off, it starts again. This goes on for hours until I finally kick him. Hard. He rolled over and it stopped. Or for the time being anyway.

But then I hear another familiar sound, very similar to a foghorn. We DO live on the shores of a bay, so it's possible, but it's the dead of winter and there definitely aren't any boats out there. Then in a ceremonial movement to release the heat that has accumulated under the cover, my other half flips the blankets up and out stumbles the unmistakable stench that ONLY my other half can produce. That was definitely NOT any fog horn. I scramble to roll over and bury my face in my pillow - gagging and retching the entire time (if he was here right now, he'd be telling me that I'm "overexaggerating". Trust me on this. I'm not). Then the snoring starts again. Then another bomb. Then both at the same time. You know, if I was smart, I'd video tape this event - it's like an musical solo right THERE in my own bed. I'd make MILLIONS!!

I roll over and put a pillow over my head and cover my mouth and nose with a shirt and am nearly asleep when I hear him almost choking. I toss the pillow off and sit up (thinking something was wrong). Much to my humour, he is choking on his very own stench. There comes another rumble, and as always he flips the blankets (seriously . . . he flips the blankets in what I suspect is a way to get rid of the heat created by his gases), at which time I grab a shirt and cover my own face, but then he gags and coughs, then flips over to escape. I laughed right out loud, rolled over and finally fell asleep. This pattern of snoring, rumble-bumming and flipping went on ALL night. Add in the sound of the hamster running in it's squeaky wheel downstairs; the sound of Imp's fish tank filter; Banshee talking and coughing in her sleep; Teen moaning and softly snoring; the water softener running; and the beeps of the snowplows, it was NOT a quiet or restful night.

This morning I woke feeling rather worn out. And my husband is wondering why. Go figure. Thinking I will sleep on the couch for the next few nights . . . just to catch up a bit.