Toss and turn and Tux and burn...

Does this ever happen to you?
Last night, feeling quite tired, I went to bed shortly after eight, and was asleep almost instantly. I woke up fully refreshed, ready to take on the world and show it who was boss, only to find it still dark outside. This isn't all that unusual--our alarm is set to go off at 5:18 a.m., and I often pop out of dreamland half an hour or so before that. Still, at this time of year, there's a glint of dawn in the air even at ten of five.
I rolled over to check the clock.
10:52.
Wow.
Normally, this would be a good thing: almost six and a half hours of blissful sleep still to be slept. And sure enough, despite my feeling wide awake, I managed to drift off fairly quickly: call it twenty minutes.
I woke up about an hour later, about ready to burst into flame. Somehow, in the middle of some nightmare or other, I had managed to reach out and activate my electric blanket...on high, of course.

Both Eva and I like it frigid in our bedroom. The window is open year round, no matter the temperature, and the ceiling fan is running at all times. If the outside temperature is anything over about minus ten Centigrade, we add in a fan at the base of the bed; if it's anything over plus five or so, we add in the Honeywell Twindow (tm) fan: two powerful rotors that suck whatever air there is to be sucked right into the room. If there's any feeling better than waking up toasty warm under covers in an icy room, it involves sex of some kind.
However, if there's any feeling worse than getting in to an icy bed, I don't want to know what it is. Hence the electric blanket, which is only turned on when it's cold enough to frost the sheets, and then turned off when comfort has been established. Otherwise it sits inert, adding a much-desired sense of weight. It's odd, when I stop to think about it: I've slept naked since I was a kid, but I've never felt comfortable without covers on me.

The switch for that blanket rests between my bedside clock and lamp, just behind my glasses case. As I just found out last night, the convenient placement lends itself a little too well to subconscious efforts at incineration. I was actually sniffing for the smoke when I jerked awake just after midnight.

Tux, who has taken to sleeping right between our heads, looked over at me. Gee, Daddy, it's warm in here. Yeah, no kidding, mutt. Sixty pounds of fur nestled against my face isn't helping matters much. Especially since it's the southern end of sixty pounds of fur. *choke* *sputter*
I snapped the electric blanket off and picked dog hair out of my teeth.
Without warning, a tongue came snaking out of the darkness to lick my eyeball.
I uttered a sound somewhere between "Yeeeetch!" and "Waaaaaah!"
Now I'm awake.

After that, the night passed in a long, furry haze. I probably slept again, but can't really be sure, because it seemed like every few minutes I'd find myself staring at the clock--which stared back idiotically--or my dog, who stared back with love and devotion and the sense than any second that tongue might roll out for the eyeball again. Daddy, I love you.
I love you too, Tux. Fuck off.
I believe at one point I actually told him to get off the bed. He understands this command, or likely just the "off" part of it. He understands it very well, especially when it's inflected with drowsiness. He knows that it means to get off the bed, then wait for Mommy-Daddy to sink back below the threshold of sleep, then get back on and cuddle, turning his heat radiation to "nuke" and never forgetting that ever-important bum placement.

This is what having a dog means for us: he's slept with us but a few months, and neither of us can bear to force him to the floor, or heaven forfend to his room, because of the look he gives, the look we can see even through the dark, the look that says Daddy, why are you doing this to me? What did I do wrong? I LOVE YOU!

So four in the morning rolled round at last, and like some rough beast, I arose half horny and half snarky as hell--not a good combination. The snarkiness persisted all day, fighting fatigue for the upper hand and usually winning. Consecutive coffees knocked some function into me, but my irrational anger threatened to flare up at any moment.

It didn't help that (of course) today was stressful in the extreme, the kind of day that all but requires a good and full night's sleep to pull off.

And now, damn it to hell, it's past my bedtime...and I'm not tired. Or rather, my body is exhausted and my mind is just a-churnin' away. I feel like I could blog forever and only get the thoughts on top.

Instead, what I'm going to do is save this, put a cap on my thoughts, check the Anaheim-Edmonton score--didn't look good for the Oilers last I checked in--and toddle off to bed.

You see, I've already unplugged the electric blanket and tossed it in a different room.

G'night, all.