Never let it be said that I am not willing to point out, when the rare opportunity presents itself, my own imperfections.
I am, for example, not as young as I used to be. Shocking, I know. But that’s not all!
I also talk in my sleep. And, I’m told, I’m pretty bitchy about it.
You know what? Hang on, let’s back up a bit, because there’s this one thing that happened and I didn’t tell you at the time because it didn’t fit with anything else I was telling you but I’ve got the note kicking around. This was before I’d finished Dishonored 2, so a couple of months ago, before he’d had a chance to play.
ME: (via skype) I need a notepad and a pen.
HIM: (brings both, eyes covered to prevent spoilers)
ME: No spoilers here, you can uncover your eyes.
HIM: Oh, cool.
ME: Well, I mean, the puzzle is here. But it changes every time. So.
ME: Yeah, that’s why I need the notepad. The combination for this lock is a logic puzzle.
HIM: (reading) At the dinner –
ME: Yeah, I got it. Thanks.
HIM: Do you want me to just do it for you?
ME: No, I’ve got it.
HIM: But it’s going to bother me now that I’ve seen it, to not solve it.
ME: You’ll solve it when you get it yourself!
HIM: But it’ll be different!
ME: I like logic puzzles! Just leave it be.
HIM: Fine. (stares)
ME: (sighs) You can stay and help, if you want.
HIM: Okay! (settles on couch) At the dinner party were Lady Winslow…
Right, so as I was saying, I’m also a terrible patient. I’m sick right now – probably dying of whatever is rattling around in my chest, so if this is the last entry you’ll know why – and it’s making me whiny and needy and I hate it. I can’t manage much of anything on my own, but I also don’t want to be alone and bored (boredom is my mortal enemy) so I need him to stay close and keep me company while simultaneously going and doing for me. Basically, I’m the worst. Especially since, when he’s sick, all he wants is to be left alone to die under the porch like an opossum.*
Anyway, what with the coughing and all I’m having a hell of a time sleeping. Which I’ve apparently decided to take out on him…
HIM: Did you sleep better last night?
ME: Once I finally got to sleep, yeah. I mean, I managed to sleep without coughing fits waking me up.
HIM: Do you remember when I came to bed?
ME: Nope. Must’ve been out by then.
HIM: (smirking) You snapped at me. You were all, “What?” and I said I was just coming to bed and you said, “No!”
HIM: You were pretty insistent about it.
ME: Yeah, that sounds like me. I’d probably just gotten comfortable and didn’t want you fucking with the covers and all.
HIM: So, bossy and argumentative in your sleep, that’s you.
ME: Pretty much, yeah.
HIM: And yipping like a puppy –
ME: Shut up! Oh my God, that never happened. why do you keep telling that story?
HIM: It was cute!
ME: Never. Happened.
* Or whatever dies under the porch in your neck of the woods; we actually have a slab up here, so nothing can get under it, and I’m basing all of my “dead under the porch” associations on past experience in more reasonable southern climes.