Circadian Dysrhythmia

SLEEP IS SACRED.  Period. 

It has always been no less than a religious, precious commodity to me.  My bed is my sanctuary.  I have a sleep machine, sun-blocking curtains in my bedroom, and a fan.  Ahhhh, a sanctuary indeed. 

My haven of rest has become a source of  anything but spiritual restoration as of late, as I have had quite unspiritual thoughts about what I am going to do to my spouse if he doesn't SHUT THE HELL UP WITH THAT SNORING!  Half of my thoughts have not only been unspiritual, but some of them illegal.  The man could wake the dead with all the noise he makes while sleeping.

"It's not like I do it on purpose.  I can't help the fact that I snore!"  And I can't help the fact that I can't sleep next to a damn buzz saw, now can I?   It's probably a Mommy thing, but I am a light sleeper.  Hence my wanting a bedtime divorce.  Lastnight as I tried to calm myself from my rage and drift off to sleep, I fantasized of having a house big enough that he could have his own bedroom.  On the opposite end of the house from mine.  With soundproof walls. 

It's true, he can't help it, and I know he doesn't do it intentionally. He knows he snores.  He knows it keeps me up.  Yet there's nothing done about it.  Yes, he's tried strips and sprays.  He even went to an ENT to have an eval after the sleep apnea test was negative.  After months of me telling him, "There is something anatomically and structurally wrong with you.  Normal people don't sound like that when sleeping."  I was right.  And after a surgery that has a 50/50 chance of working, it may reduce his snoring issue.  If the odds were a little better, I would have suggested it a long time ago.  Even if I had to turn tricks to finance it. 

He works.  At his job and here.  I know he's tired and it's not exactly fair to expect him to sleep on the couch night after night.  But, he does have the annoying ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere.  I do not.  So, it makes sense for him to sleep elsewhere, right?  To my sleep-deprived brain, it makes perfect sense. 

It makes even more sense after I rise from a fitful night of attempting to sleep and my beloved looks at me with this shit-eating grin and asks me how I slept.  I can see why women end up on death row after serving their spouses a drink with a splash of cyanide.  Sleep he will. 

In the meantime, I'm headin' to Starbucks to get a quad latte and research whether temporary insanity secondary to sleep deprivation will hold up in court.