Fallen....

I've fallen, quite hard, may I just say. Several times, in fact, in the last few weeks alone....not in love, or like, or hate, or indifference.....

Out of my fucking twin size bed.

The first time, I chalked it up to being unused to the size of my new nest; but as with driving an unfamiliar car, you get used to where it begins and ends, adjusting automatically for any size differentiation. Not so, apparently, with a bed. Part of it perhaps, is that I'm still a lousy sleeper at best; one can stay in decent shape tossing and turning their way through a supposedly 8 hour night. There are nights I'd swear they stretch 18 hours. Oh, I've considered catching up on my email correspondence, finding something mindless on TV.....instead, I lay there, in the dark, eyes like pie plates, awaiting the blessed relief of sleeping.

That's not, by the way, when I fall out of bed.

Oh, no. My life could never be so simple. I fall out when I finally do fall asleep, much to my horror and great annoyance. I'm starting to wonder if Lois thinks I'm engaging in some sort of formal, tribal solo sex ritual; or simply raising a herd of unruly goats in my bedroom. Part of that is true: not the solo ride on the O train - that's not my thing....but the goat part. Yes, there are indeed nights I tumble out of this twin by my own hands, twisted into blankets that have formed nooses around a limb, my neck, the footboard. It's a talent, I guess; not one though that extends my resume any. More often than not, however, I've realized I don't so much fall out of bed as much as get shoved quite HARD in the back out of bed.

By. My. Fucking. Dog. (Cum. Goat.)

I've whacked my still sore face and head on both tables, on either side of the bed, somehow managing to nail the sharp corners each and every time. Quite the feat, since one of them is octagonal, and I keep turning it so a flat side faces the bed. So far, I've only knocked over the lamp once, thankfully not destroying the lightbulb. All this time, I kept thinking it was me. My fault.

It's not.

It's Fucker's fault.

On the one hand, I'm flattered she loves me so much she enjoys snuggling close; especially as I'm sleeping alone these days. Except. I'm not. I'm sleeping with her. She's a bed hog. She sleeps under the covers, steals the end of my favorite pillow, blows horrific gas in my face, drools on my legs, and then, just in case I might actually have moved after finally nodding off, the selfish bitch shoves me out of bed. She's not even apologetic. Nope. She stretches all the way out, once I've whacked my face, hit the floor, started swearing - making deep, satisfied groaning noises.

The first couple of times? I figured she fell asleep too, moved, and since the beds so tiny, I kind of fell off trying to groggily move away from her.

No ma'am.

This is premeditated, hard core, Alpha Bitch shoving going on. The whole I'm Still Sleeping, I'm Not Aware Of Your Flight To The Floor act is getting not only old, but downright dangerous on her part: I'm so exhausted I'm lethal. I've enough issues sleeping as it is, I do not need 20+ additional reasons clawing me in the back on my way into La La Land. Last night, for example, when she did it, thinking I was asleep and I wasn't?

Well.

Let's just say, she got the shock of her life. That's right. What goes around comes around: I had no compunction whatsoever shoving her too big for her fur ass right off the other side of the bed. Now, we're both on the floor, both of us pissy, but only one of us gets to growl: me. She made some pathetic I Cannot Believe You Just Did That noises; I was not impressed, nor moved. The clawing at the edge of the bed, testing the waters, if you will, on whether or not it was safe to return to the warm spot on the bed? Met with stern resistance.

She ate my retainer, two pairs of panties, and the new Ziploc freezer containers I bought to freeze the seventy gallons of chili I whipped up. They weren't even out of the box yet. This, after I bought her a long line so she could enjoy today's weather while I detailed the car! What kind of thanks is THAT?! Just who does she think she is?

I wanted to stand there, make a huge production of removing her toys, so she was essentially grounded - but I know what happens when I do that. She retaliates. On furniture. With shoes. Obviously panties, a habit she knows pisses me off to no end. I get it, she wants to sleep in bed too. Don't we all.

So I've fallen all right. I've been hurt. So this time, when I fall from grace?

I'm taking the bitch down with me.