I can't sleep. This is not news.
At 2:13am I was fumbling through the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I'm pouring water from the light of the refrigerator and trying not to wake up my dog, I heard a terrible noise. Horrible.
It was like this:
It was my husband. Snoring.
I sighed deeply, down to my soul.
As I've mentioned? Things haven't been the greatest lately at home. Not bad, mind you, but not great. A lot of it is my fault, and I know it. I'm ridiculously busy...painfully stressed. My days start early and last long. I have plans, goals, and ideas and because I have plans, goals, and ideas I never, ever, ever stop.
I'm pretty sure I'm not the easiest person on Earth to live with.
Neither is he.
As I chugged my water I started writing a post in my head. This is what I do...I constantly write posts in my head and eventually type them out. A letter to him, maybe? Something half-funny and half-serious about all his flaws and what he needed to do to be a perfect husband.
I finished my water and went back to bed. Before I could climb back in, I had to forcibly shove Jason's leg back to his side of the bed. If I am gone longer than thirty seconds his body automatically occupies the space that I was previously occupying. I don't know how he does it, but he also knows when I am gone, no matter how deeply he's sleeping.
Next to him, trying to sleep I thought about what to do. What to write and what to say. How sad I am that things are so off and how sad I am that yet another person I love is going through a divorce. About how it's so hard for people to stay together and how very, very sad it makes me when things fall apart.
I slept fitfully. I always do. I didn't dream.
At 4:50 my alarm went off and I groggily slapped at it and went about my morning routine. Quietly creeping through the house so I don't wake any of the people who still sleep. Packing up three little lunches, one for me and two for them. Patting the soft part of Ginger's neck gently, so she'll be sure I'm coming back later. Flipping the porch lights on and off three times in case a stupid raccoon is on my porch again. I hate those stupid raccoon bastards.
I climbed into my car, started it, and through bleary-eyes blinked at something on my windshield.
Something was on my windshield.
WHAT THE CRAP WAS ON MY WINDSHIELD?
I was so angry. SO. ANGRY. My immediate thought was, "Those stupid kids up the street have THROWN SOMETHING ON MY WINDSHIELD. OH MY GOD! I will STAB THEM IN THEIR STUPID LITTLE IDIOT NECKS! Then! THEN! I'll call their parents and tell them what-"
The windshield said, in huge green letters in my husband's handwriting:
I LOVE YOU!
On my windshield. In green letters. Three words, from a man who is not perfect.
I don't deserve him.
I most certainly do not deserve him.