Just a Big Brujahah

Sleep. Ah, sweet, sweet slumber.

I LOVE to sleep. Alas, it seems the world is against my personal snoozing preferences. If left to my own devices, I would be purely nocturnal. It's not that I hate people, I just prefer the company of the types of people I encounter at 3 am to the ones I do at 3 pm.

I wasn't feeling well last night, and couldn't sleep. I finally headed to bed at around 7 am. I put some fleecy snuggly warm pants on and thick socks, shut the bedroom door, and swaddled myself in a quilt. My fiance *still* has not retrieved his pillows from the trunk of my car after our camping trip last weekend, so when I got to bed, he had stolen one of my pillows. (This brings up another point - I had gotten used to having the entire queen sized bed all to myself before he came along - it's been quite an adventure learning to share a bed with someone on a regular basis, especially for someone who is a restless sleeper that likes to sprawl out when she sleeps.) I was so tired, the pillow detail didn't matter much to me and I promptly passed out.

Now, having two cats and a pseudoroommate makes the issue of open/closed door difficult. The cats insist on being in the room with us when we sleep, or they will meow at the door until we let them in. However, they decide they need to leave the room far before we're ready to get up, and the new apartment has the springy doorstops that make a nifty noise when pawed at. When they want to leave, they will bat at the doorstops and I have to listen to "SPROINNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG! SPROINNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG!" until I let them out. Yes, I let them out. Mark will sleep through anything. We would just leave the door ajar, but Mark doesn't want to flash the pseudoroommate and well, sometimes the door *ahem* needs to be shut.

Alarm clocks are the bane of my existence. The snooze button is my friend. However, Pierre/Fat Boy has learned that the alarm clock = breakfast. He is more effective than the snooze bar because 15 minutes after the alarm clock goes off, he hops onto my back (I'm a stomach sleeper) and starts chewing on my hair and subjecting me to Whisker Torture until I get up. It's not easy to ignore a 14 pound fat cat that wants breakfast NOW.

Naptime is a happy time. See you later.

Bruja


	Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Friday, Mar. 22, 2002
	Sleep. Ah, sweet, sweet slumber. I LOVE to sleep. Alas, it seems the world is against my personal snoozing preferences. If left to my own devices, I would be purely nocturnal. It's not that I hate people, I just prefer the company of the types of people I encounter at 3 am to the ones I do at 3 pm. I wasn't feeling well last night, and couldn't sleep. I finally headed to bed at around 7 am. I put some fleecy snuggly warm pants on and thick socks, shut the bedroom door, and swaddled myself in a quilt. My fiance still has not retrieved his pillows from the trunk of my car after our camping trip last weekend, so when I got to bed, he had stolen one of my pillows. (This brings up another point - I had gotten used to having the entire queen sized bed all to myself before he came along - it's been quite an adventure learning to share a bed with someone on a regular basis, especially for someone who is a restless sleeper that likes to sprawl out when she sleeps.) I was so tired, the pillow detail didn't matter much to me and I promptly passed out. Now, having two cats and a pseudoroommate makes the issue of open/closed door difficult. The cats insist on being in the room with us when we sleep, or they will meow at the door until we let them in. However, they decide they need to leave the room far before we're ready to get up, and the new apartment has the springy doorstops that make a nifty noise when pawed at. When they want to leave, they will bat at the doorstops and I have to listen to "SPROINNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG! SPROINNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG!" until I let them out. Yes, I let them out. Mark will sleep through anything. We would just leave the door ajar, but Mark doesn't want to flash the pseudoroommate and well, sometimes the door ahem needs to be shut. Alarm clocks are the bane of my existence. The snooze button is my friend. However, Pierre/Fat Boy has learned that the alarm clock = breakfast. He is more effective than the snooze bar because 15 minutes after the alarm clock goes off, he hops onto my back (I'm a stomach sleeper) and starts chewing on my hair and subjecting me to Whisker Torture until I get up. It's not easy to ignore a 14 pound fat cat that wants breakfast NOW. Naptime is a happy time. See you later. Bruja � before after �
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