1. Awoken at 4:30am to back, neck, head pain on the level of was-I-abducted-by-aliens-or-some-shit?! Because, HI, I was SLEEPING. How the hell do you fuck that up? So, naturally, I begin to curse to rectify the situation. This cursing goes on, silently, in between my muffled sobs and moaning. Husband's snoring pattern is not so much as even interrupted.
2. Resolving myself to this fate of martyrdom--for what, not sure, but these details can be worked out later--I'm just about to fall asleep when the fucking cat launches onto my stomach, kneading my chub with his paws like I'm Momma Fucking Kitty. I reflexively punch him in the face, and in the midst of the commotion, I feel another piece of my spine begin to mutiny. Mother. Fucking. Cat.
3. A few minutes later, after adjusting my pillows around various curves and crevices, I sigh deeply and try to THINK POSITIVELY, WIFE. Counting my blessings of children who only occasionally humiliate me, and hey-at-least-they-sleep-through-the-night!, T9 begins to wail. "MAHHH-MEEEEE! UUUHHPP?" It's 5:00am. You little sonofa... Cursing commences. This time, much more loudly.
4. After a firm interrogation (the nightlight in his face was good for effect) of the child for begin in cahoots with my spine and/or the cats, I return to bed and decide I'll go back to the muffled moaning technique. Clearly Armageddon is nigh and at least this manner of death is less terrifying than those smelly zombies. (I mean, they GOTTA smell, right?)
5. Laying now causes more pain than standing, or even than manually removing my own toenails, for example. So my moaning turns into anger and I silently start to threaten my skeletal and muscular system. I figure a bit of waterboarding a la HEATING PAD SET TO HIGH, MOTHERFUCKERS will do the trick. I hobble down to the linen closet. It's 5:20
6. Trying to plug the goddamn thing in was an issue I'd overlooked because clearly bending and stretching is not on the menu. So I start cursing. Again. Husband begins to stir. FINALLY, GODDAMNIT. He asks me what's wrong, and as I'm describing the apocalypse by way of children, cats, and spinal injury, he begins to snore.
7. I unplug something of his to get the heated torture device on my back and plop down onto my bed and directly onto a cat. The jolt stiffens my body further and I feel nothing but fury for any living creature on this godforsaken planet. Clearly the little fucker has taken me for dead and is all I GOT DIBS ON HER SIDE OF THE BED! I elbow the cat in the gut. He stares me down and puts his ass in my face before hissing and scooting away. It's 6:00am and I feel a sneeze coming on. Bracing for impact, I begin to weep for my lost innocence.
8. I'm delirious with sleep & the fatigue begins to overtake the pain. THE PAIN OF HEARTBREAK AND AGONY. Alarm goes off at 6:20.
As he lifts himself to a seated position next to me, smacking the alarm clock off, I try to eyeball him without turning my neck. It's not as effective as I hope and he thinks I'm being goofy and starts to laugh. I implode quietly, for fear I'll wake the cats. Or children. Or demons in my head. HOW DARE YOU LAUGH AT ME WHEN I'M BEING PATHETIC AND ABSURD. Ignoring my psychosis, he rubs his eyes and inquires about "What was going on last night anyway?" I blink silently hoping he'll translate my Morse code so I don't have to SAY IT, but perhaps he's distracted by the fact that I'm wrapped in pillows, heating pads, and cat hair. He shrugs and notices his unplugged humidifier. "Hey! What'd you unplug THIS for?!"
9. Cursing is reinstated.
So, the concern here is less the passive-agressiveness of my cats or my husband's envious ability to sleep through goddamn ANYTHING, and more that this is the second incident of Stiff Neck Disease in the past month. And since going to the doctor is probably the LAST thing I'll do, let's flesh out some possible causes of my condition:
1. The mattress. Sure, we could go buy a new one. Except that this one cost more than a small child and is only five years old. Strike that.
2. My pillow. Yes, it's a firm possibility that I am pillow-incompetent. But seems like it might be one of the few humiliating truths I'd hesitate to acknowledge publicly. Ahem. Moving on, then.
3. Stress? STRESS?! ME? OH HAHAHA DON'T BE SILLY I LOVE MY LIFE AND CHILDREN AND HUSBAND AND OHGODGIVEMEAMUSCLERELAXER.
4. Undiscovered sleepwaking. I suppose it's plausible that I'm a nighttime weight lifter or something. Or, at least, a really bad one that is unable to actually build any muscle, but fully able to toss the weights around in a manner that is likely to cause injury and/or death. I'll tell my husband to toss all exercise equipment just to be safe.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's cancer. But until I get the results back from WebMD, I'll just be over here chomping on Advil like they're Smarties. Smarties that taste horrible.
Speaking of inapprorpriate jokes! Have you heard about Movember? It's the movement to raise awareness about men's health by growing a mustache. So go check out my friends growing facial hair for a good cause. You can check out their pictures, learn a few things, and donate some money. It's surprisingly enjoyable.
But, then again, I'm the one making cancer jokes as an intro to a cancer fundraiser. So, there's that.