We can suffer from anxiety/depression/etc., but we do not have to let it control our lives, year, month, week, day, hour, or second. We can choose to move on. We can choose to get up and do something. We can choose to put our anxieties toward productive activities.Read More
A groggy pressure poured over my brain as I opened my eyes to a dismal, rain-soaked morning. My neck ached with the pangs of wrongful sleep, and somewhere in my head, the horrible dream replayed. I could barely relive it before blue-eyed and hungry, Xavier removed himself from the 'down' position,
and rose up on four white legs, his black nose pressing repeatedly against my body, sometimes hitting the side of the mattress.
The message was clear.
Either I get up right now and see him outside to his business or he'd pee and/or poop all over my bedroom floor.
I sighed, giving him the motion to lay back down, and STAY - a firm palm facing him.
He acquiesced regrettably, I assume; I know not - I merely retreated back into a fitful slumber, my boyfriend's large shoulder pressed firmly into cheek. Oh, he would not rise, no matter how many pressings and poundings of hands I splayed into his hairy back, he would not budge.
Somewhere near my head, preferably on the windowsill, I heard the cat let out an amused meow.
She had not slept since yesterday morning and was no longer looking to get her catnap - she was awake, and with a glance toward her green eyes, I saw that she was watching my morning tussle intently, just waiting for a moment my hands were free so she could slip next to them and get her intentional involuntary petting.
Somewhere on the floor I could hear the dog biting his insanely loud squeaky toy, ensuring my sleep would definitely be something of a dream.
I sat up, relenting to the fur-clad gods that I would heed their howls and meows, that I was up, that we could start our day.
As I stood from the bed and stretched my aching limbs, I looked over my shoulder and stared at the boyfriend:
The perfect model of sleep in action - he was curled up toward me, and as I'd moved, he'd expertly taken my pillow, leaving me but a second to clear my hair from it before he'd done so. An arm wound its way over it, a hand under it, and atop his arm he'd placed his head, all the while never opening his eyes.
A faint smile of satisfaction played on his lips.
I blinked in moderate disbelief, but could only touch the stubble on his cheek in affection - I loved him, no matter how difficult he made sleeping at times. The smile grew more prominent with my touch.
Now fully awake, I stared at my seven month old Siberian Husky, the look he only returned with bated excitement, blue eyes wide.
I nodded, rising to my feet, leaving my bed behind, the child-like boyfriend that slept upon it, the cat now taking her place beside him, curled up next to him in an open spot next to his stomach, and motioned for Xavier to follow me out the room toward the dismal day.
My plans to go job searching had been thwarted by the rain, and as I plotted what to do now, heading toward the bathroom, I realized the grog had dissipated, the aches slowly melting away. My body was waking up and a new energy filled the cracks left behind by my dream-state:
Yes, I knew I could get anything done, and though I'd envied the boyfriend for sleeping so soundlessly for a few more hours than I every morning, I knew I had an advantage he did not:
I could get more stuff done.
So I've fed the dog, applied to some places via Monster, and am now about to see to the horrible kitchen, the cat's nourishment, and myself.
How are your mornings? Less hairy, I hope. :)
Keep your bite,