when berni wakes up in the middle of the night

Es­ti­mated reading time is 1 minute.

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 . . . 

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