The light of my life Berni sleeps like the proverbial rock. Eight hours of deep sleep is a probably bad night; the day will drag somewhere and wee bit more coffee than usual might be needed. Nine hours is good, ten better. Ten and she behaves like a 49-year-old phillie (it’s baseball season) and I have to keep her in check.
I do not.
Sleep like a rock, that is.
In fact, at 63, a lifetime of insomnia-like nights has left me as someone who sleeps 3-4 hours a night. The upside of this is that I have twenty waking hours a day and tend to get a lot done.
Witness my maintaining three blogs, each continuously updated. The negative is that I am often tired mid-day and need regular infusions of caffeine. Either way, I do cherish those 3-4 hours.
So it is than when Berni wakes up in the middle of the night feeling randy, I am usually not all that receptive. Nonetheless, I love her dearly and want her content, so I usually submit to her amorous demands.
Thankfully, these demands seem to emanate from arousing dreams, the like of which I have never experienced—even during youthful episodes of wet dreams. And so it is that she is easily fulfilled.
And so it is that I have come to refer to these ante meridiem quickies as my nocturnal submissions . . .