Hubby’s finally snoring in the bed. I swear he’s worse than a kid fighting sleep at bedtime after he has an epidural for back pain. He refuses to lie down. (He knows he’ll fall asleep. Which he’s supposed to do after receiving a short-term general anesthesia.) Instead, he sits on the couch and talks. Loudly. Continuously. Without pause for breath. His eyes even get big and a little wild. I asked a question specific to his chosen topic of discussion (monologue). He looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and said “Huh? What are you talking about?” He didn’t remember blathering about anything. Don’t know what they gave him at the doc’s office, but it was some good stuff.
Fed him sandwiches, crackers and cheese, and plenty of bottled water (reason for bottled to follow) because he didn’t get to eat this morning. He finished and went into graze mode as a further means of fighting sleep. Cabinet doors opened and slapped shut. Bags were ripped open and crunching ensued. I watched a grown man clutch a bag of Raisin Bran to his chest as if afraid I’d snatch it, and eat it dry by the handful, straight from the bag. Got that away from him. While I swept up crumbs the can opener whirred. Turned around and he was forking black olives out of a can. He doesn’t like them.
The refrigerator worked overtime standing open while he stared inside, fussing like a petulant teen there was ‘nothing to eat’ in it. Sat him on the couch again, went to the very same refrigerator and fixed him — yet another — plate. From the now miraculously full fridge. I was putting things in the dishwasher and realized he wasn’t answering me. Tiptoed into the living room, relieved, expecting to see him snoozing on the couch.
He was missing.
The dogs were on the loveseat, heads shoved behind the curtains and staring out the front window. I peeked and almost freaked out. Had to chase down the driveway after him, turn him around and get him back inside. Where was he going? To check the mail. Mail we’d already collected on the way out to the doc’s office. Caught him a few minutes later with the horse’s empty feed bucket, headed out the back door. Asked where he was going and he said to check the peacock pen for eggs.
Sigh. They’re pea-cocks.
About the time I thought I’d go slap bonkers riding herd on him he decided to watch TV. (Thank you, God.) He started flipping through channels like he was demon-possessed, the volume set on 27, when it’s usually on 18. (Please, God, make the batteries go dead.) I have a headache and need Tylenol. If I took some every time I started to do so, but can’t remember if I made it to the cabinet for them or not, I’ve possibly consumed six tablets. But as I stand here shaking the bottle it feels like the same amount in there, so I’m thinking maybe I didn’t. Considering two more tabs since the headache’s still there. Or maybe just cracking the seal on that bottle of Canadian Mist that’s been in the liquor closet unopened for three years.
I’m not really complaining. This is typical for him after a medical procedure. I can usually wait him out. Or just sit in his lap, rub the back of his neck and play with his ears (dear Lord, why am I thinking about the dog all of a sudden?) to make him hold still long enough to conk out. His inability to slip easily out from under me is the only advantage I’ve found to my weight gain, but I’ll take it.
I had planned on writing while he slept off the after effects, between washing loads of laundry. But that plan was shot down before we even left. Don’t know why, but it’s always a scramble when we leave to go somewhere. I wet my toothbrush, squirted toothpaste on it, and stuck it in my mouth. Turned the tap off and walked out the bathroom to locate the piece of clothing hubby was complaining he couldn’t find. Pointed it out hanging under his hand, went back to brushing, returned to the bathroom. Spat the toothpaste into the sink and turned the tap.
Not a gurgle, not a bubble, not a hiss. And sure no water. I yelled unladylike things. Hubby got on the phone to find out what was going on while I tried to wipe my face and toothpaste-y fingers (I’m a vigorous brusher) by melting ice cubes in a wash cloth in the microwave. Ever rinsed your mouth with iced tea after brushing? The taste totally defeats the purpose of brushing in the first place.
Turns out AT&T hit a water line while digging for the second time in 6 days. I said more ugly things, this time about AT&T, whom I dumped about a year ago. (At that point I had an 800 number for family in the military to call home, a house number, an office number, a designated fax line, and internet through them, and told them to cancel everything. Why keep something that never functioned properly, right? They were constantly digging back then too.) Hubby hushed me with a hand over the lower half of my face when we drove past the break site on the way out and I tried to shout out the window. Ended up mumbling into his palm the equipment operators’ ineptitude with blueprint interpretation and understanding set back allowances was probably because of their family tree. It growing straight up and totally lacking branches, you know.
The line was repaired while we were gone, but not flushed properly. So here I sit, hose running in the back yard trying to flush out that nasty brown gunk that gets in the water lines whenever they’re broken. Sure hope it’s gone by tomorrow morning. I have to have coffee to face the day. Don’t tell AT&T; I made sure to buy a couple of gallons of water so I wouldn’t do without. But if my water’s still yuck, you can bet I’ll have fun complaining to any and every AT&T supervisor who has the misfortune to take my calls.
Venting relieves stress. Should be a productive morning.
Might even put it in a book!