I’ve always preferred to sleep alone.
Or, if you like better…when I sleep alone, I prefer to be by myself.
When I got together with my daughter’s biological father many moons ago, he liked to hook his leg over my hip, thereby holding me hostage. It makes sense to me now why he did that, since he hated to have me out of his sight. It was his way of keeping tabs on my whereabouts, even though I was just trying to get some damn sleep.
Which I rarely did because the prick had his heavy fucking leg locked around me, like a human clamp. Just getting up to go pee was a hassle, because he’d always ask me where I was going.
Oh, you know, it’s 2 am. I was thinking of walking the streets looking for some trouble to get myself into, you stupid bastard.
When I left him (finally) in 2002, I ended up sharing a queen-sized bed with my then 5-year-old. She was a fine sleeping partner, unless you count waking up to a little foot in my face or her using my ass as a pillow. I called her an octopus and we joke around about it now.
But once we upgraded to a two bedroom apartment, I had my bed to myself again and she had her own.
It was a joyous time.
I enjoyed the bliss of not having anyone touch me while I slept.
I just can’t quite get on board with the whole couple sleeping peacefully in each others arms thing.
Anyway, it didn’t last nearly long enough. When my asshat husband moved in with us in 2004, there I was again, having to share my coveted personal space with another person. He didn’t use me as a body pillow or anything, but he could only sleep with the radio on (I need silence and the white noise from my fan) and he snored so loudly that I had thought seriously a few times of smothering him with a pillow.
I didn’t because I’m cool like that. I’d just kick him really hard in the shin.
But as luck would have it, after about 2 years, he stopped sleeping in the bed with me. He has a bad back, plus he has sleep apnea (which he ignores, of course.)
So, he started to sleep in his big man’s recliner, which now smells like…gross stuff.
I love my bed. I spend a sizable chunk of my life in it, so it better be comfortable. I have a rip-off memory foam mattress, with a new sheet set made by the fine people who sell Snuggle fabric softeners. I have a buttery, older comforter and the perfect pillow combination specifically arranged for me.
I move around a lot because my chronic pain makes it difficult to get into a comforable position. I toss and turn often, which would drive any future sleeping partner insane, I reckon.
Readjusting to the single life has its share of ups and downs, but at least my nightly slumber hasn’t taken a hit. I don’t miss his body heat or having him there with me.
What about you? Do you love sleeping in the same bed with your significant other or are you like me, no touchy?
*Most of you over the age of 28 should know what song I am referencing to in the title of today’s post. If not, it just means that I’m getting older by the minute.