We approach the California King bed with the intention of a delicious sleep. The bedding has a soft fluffy comforter and fresh, silk burgundy sheets. There are two King pillows and six brand new standard sizes.
My wife goes to her favorite side of the bed, while I hop on my usual left by the window. She reads a chapter of the Game of Thrones. While I do some blogging on my iPhone and check out a few poems on Kindle.
We read for about an hour.
Then we curl up and snuggle, doing different things with our bodies that are unique to our cuddling style.
We talk about random things: what’s going on with Trump, the latest episode of Baskets, and interesting bits of gossip about the neighbors. We giggle a lot and engage in baby talk. Her four stuffed animals lay in different positions at the foot of the bed.
We yawn in unison.
I turn over. My wife rolls to the opposite side. Our backs touch.
My wife falls asleep first, then I try. Soon my wife makes a barely audible gurgle, then snores like the sound of a runaway train. At that point, I flip to the other end of the bed, with my head staring directly into the faces of the stuffed animals. I toss them to the floor for more room. I stick a kingsize pillow between my knees, one I cradle with my right arm and another I place under my head. I close my eyes but not for long. The thoughts of the day pop in my head like fleas on a griddle—writing ideas, appointments for the next day, and faces of people that annoy me. I ruminate on these things for a while, perhaps too long, tossing and turning, trying to tune out my wife’s snoring and my endless thoughts. Eventually, my eyelids grow increasingly heavy. I yawn some more, and, finally, drift off.
Then I have to pee.