I do not often sleep with him. His bed is either too hot or too cold, or more commonly and far, far worse; it is a bewildering mix of molten sweaty sheets and ice cold air. I wake up what seems like every ten minutes to move off the hot place or pull the blankets closer to keep out the arctic blasts. I most frequently end up on the couch. It is never too hot or too cold. I sleep all night. Though I miss my snuggles.
So I sleep upstairs in the front room and last night his work phone starts ringing at 3 fucking am on a Sunday morning. Let me repeat that, THREE FUCKING AM!!!! Not only does it ring, but it has this nagging little beeping thing it does when there is an unanswered message. So I lay there, trying to ignore, trying to tell myself that the little beeping thing it does every sixty seconds is not that bad, I can go back to sleep. And the fucking phone starts ringing AGAIN. Okay, this is no longer fun or funny. A debate starts. Throw the fucking thing out the front door? No you know better. Go wake him up and tell him? No, he can be a horrible grouch bastard when woken up, especially at THREE FUCKING AM. Put the phone in the garage?
I ended up going downstairs and crawling into that horrible bed, anything is better than all those rings and beeps. He rolls over and snuggles me. A small positive in a generally lose, lose situation. He tosses and turns and finally gets up and takes a leak. I mumble at him as he comes back in the room, "Your phone is ringing and ringing."
He does not say anything, just gets back into bed. He lays there for maybe five minutes and then gets up and goes upstairs. I can hear him walking around the upstairs. I try to go back to sleep, to no avail. He eventually comes back downstairs and as he gets back into bed I ask, "Was it an emergency?" I had better have been a HUGE FUCKING EMERGENCY.
And he goes off on this long explanation about who is working where and what the machine here does and who should be the one, and... and... and... I interrupt, "Yes or no." He says not an emergency. But it is too late. It was probably too late as soon as the phone rang the first time. I was awake.
I get up, gather my clothes and head back upstairs. I make myself a hot chocolate and pour a generous couple of glugs of brandy into it. He comes up and makes a pot of coffee. Nothing like a really early start on a Sunday.
I think the thing that really pissed me off is that sure he came upstairs, but after drinking a cup of coffee he gets into his big chair and falls back asleep for another four hours. Grrrrr....