The Hunting Party

 

I was hoping to capture a good night’s sleep.  It had eluded me last night completely.  Tonight, however, I was prepared.   I had ½ of a sleeping pill, a sip of bottled water and, what I thought to be, the right amount of covers.  I got myself into the prone position and quietly waited.

The night sounds were a mixture of creaks and occasional pops.  I knew from past experience that those were made from the heat of the day leaving the house.  Its internal structure was moving slightly, adjusting to the night’s temperature.

An hour had passed and still nothing.  I felt myself getting frustrated.  Why hadn’t sleep shown up yet.  Then, I noticed that my partner had bagged it big time.  She had caught it and brought it down.  I could picture her standing next to its carcass, with one foot on it and her hand holding her pillow high in the air, as if  to say - snap my picture, like Ernest Hemmingway, posing next to a fallen rhino.

Now, however, it was a few minutes past 3.  How had sleep sneaked past me and gotten to her?  I’m sure I had been alert the whole time.  This wasn’t fair.  I’ve caught it before, I know how it is done, so why wasn’t I having any success?

It was 8:37 am when I heard the coffee pot going through its exercises.  I must have missed it.  I’d fallen asleep and wasn’t aware of it.  I wondered how long I had been asleep.  Very cunning – that sleep.