I can’t sleep. I’ve tried everything imaginable, other than travel down the street and buy heroin or Oxy or Vicodin from the dealers that roam the roads at night. I’ve tried to figure out why this is, and the best thing I can come up with is that I miss him. I feel like Daisy in this cartoon, minus the flower. There seems to be a shortage of flowers here.

My man comes home at 7am most days. He mutters something about it being ‘hotter than hell’ in here, and turns down the heat. He then rolls the dog over and slinks into bed, where he stays until about 5pm. I’m usually left with caring for the kids, running errands, and cleaning the house. Except for bed making. I have to wait until about 8pm to make the bed.
I have a nagging suspicion that this will be the year that I lose him. I don’t know why I feel that way, I just do. I can’t shake it. I try. I think of other things. I’ve even flat out asked a few times if he’s bored of me and wants something better. He smiles and says no. I can’t ask forever without looking insane.
So here I sit. It’s nearly 5am and I haven’t been to sleep yet. He’ll be home in a couple of hours. I can pretend to be asleep. Or I can start a fight. I don’t know which one I’d prefer not to happen.