M sleeps like a log, like a rock. Still and quiet and long.
Me? Not so much. I often wake in the wee hours and can’t get back to sleep.
And I hate to disturb him by turning on the light to read.
So afterI tossed and turned for an hour a few weeks ago, I slipped out and into our guest room.
I loved it.
Is it wrong to like our guest room much better than our master bedroom?
It’s like a cozy little cave in those wee hours of the morning: dark and silent. I reclined against a pile of pillows, pulled up a fleece blanket to ward off the chill, cracked open a book and read the entire thing. All of it. While down the hall, M dozed, undisturbed.
It was heavenly.
Our master bedroom is oddly placed–with a window and a French door both right on the street. It’s not that there’s a lot of noise, because the neighborhood is quiet. But there IS some, and also some light leaks in because I thought blackout shades for the French doors wouldn’t look very good. I was probably right, but then there’s the practicality and how every little thing keeps me up. Now, I wear an eye mask to bed…
And then, there’s Riley. Another creature for me to disturb with my sleep disorder.
But the guest room sits off our courtyard and the only window faces it. There’s virtually no noise at all and the plantation shutters keep the room dark. I can be guiltlessly (and blissfully) alone.
The concept of separate bedrooms has always seemed strange to me. Until now.
I should confess that I’ve been mostly in long distance relationships for the past 20 years, so I’m used to sleeping alone at least part of the time. I like it.
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