Not really, but it's raining outside, and it's the title of a really good song by Steve Jones, off his Mercy album. (He was part of the less notorious half of the Sex Pistols, and of course in the late-80s he was the bloke on the MTV ads who'd say, "Sid Vicious did drugs. I did drugs. I nearly died from drugs. Don't do drugs." If we'd had the right memes back then, this would've been awfully close to "And you know who else loved doing drugs? That's right. Adolf Hitler." But we were a different people in those days, so innocent that we'd become best friends with someone just because they'd seen a Blackadder episode.)
Actually, it is raining a little in my heart - I'm awake early because I had a terrible dream. I don't remember how, but Mike died. I KNOW. It's horrifying. And the worst bit was the dream was so lifelike in that I was in shock and wanted to find the celestial Undo key, because he had just been alive. How could he now be dead? And I never got to tell him I wasn't really mad about whatever, it was just my personality to gripe. (Oh god, that could be so many things.)
So I wake up and we're not cuddled up. I don't want to gross you out, but yes, there is cuddling in this relationship. Also spooning. There might even be more intimate contact, but I'm one of those considerate fat people who tries not to squick out the skinnies. My stopping there is like me buying an extra seat on the airliner of life, just to make sure my elbow doesn't jab your comfort zone.
So, I wake up, and we're not cuddled, although this could be because Mike is curled up in a way that reminds me how, when he came to bed a little after me, I refused to give him any of the sheet. (And now he's dream dead! And I wouldn't give him any sheet! Oh god!) I don't really remember this, but I do remember a lot of tugging from an external force and me growling in general.
Actually, maybe that was some other morning. Cripes - you see how wretched a wife I am? The county is going to come revoke our marriage license!
So, I do the right thing and start smacking his arm. "Hey! HEY! Hey?" Wait, first I put my arm around him. But he was cold! SO COLD. Then I started with the "Hey!"
Well, of course he was cold - he didn't have any sheet, and we run the A/C like the Coca Cola polar bears might be dropping by. But I was worried... concerned, so I wailed on him until he woke up.
"Whuh?"
"Just checking!"
Then I covered him in the sheet, which he didn't want (here I notice the kicked-off blanket on his side), but damnit, the sheet was a gesture of my undying love (NOTE THE ADJECTIVE, BUCKO), and he was going to have it tucked all around him.
Then I got up and heard the swiiiiiiiiiiiiishhhhh.... swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiishhhhhh.... that is cars cutting through rain on pavement, and I'm all happy. But if we go to the workout center tonight (We worked out yesterday! It was cute! I briefly broke the iPod!), I'm not letting him put the treadmill up to "4" just for fun. He can eat the Ben and Jerry's (it was on sale!) Cherry Garcia in the fridge, yes, but he can't go up to 4.
Comments