I was inspired recently by a quote somebody posted on social media. I know, it’s practically unheard of, but it does occasionally happen. I don’t know the ultimate origin of the text, but it essentially said this:
Instead of saying to yourself “oh no, I’ve got to do this” or “I wish I didn’t have to do that” try turning it round. When you wake up in the morning say to yourself “oh, I get to do this today” or “what do I get to do next“
Its not a million miles away from my general habit of looking for a silver lining when things go awry – even, or especially, with my tongue planted firmly in my cheek as people react with dismay.
I’ve been actively trying it this week as I approach work, or deal with difficult situations. So far it’s got me to say: “oh I get to sort this situation at work out, and hopefully make things better”
It’s a form of positivity that seems to have a use for me right now – so that’s no bad thing.
The last couple of months have seen an interesting new evolution in how Lady M communicates with me in her sleep. She works long hours, and drives a lot, so is scrupulous about trying to keep a regular sleep cycle. As I usually take public transport and have regular bouts of insomnia, I have… a less regular sleep cycle.
I do try to go to bed around the same time – on the principle that my body can be resting even if my brain isn’t – and I often read, or do some doodling in bed while she sleeps.
And this is where the groaning comes in. You see Lady M is generally quite a light sleeper, so I think on at least some level she is aware of the light being on, and the movements I make if sketching or writing.
There comes a point where she starts to mutter and groan occasionally under her breath, or to sigh heavily (and what feels decidedly pointedly) as she begins to move her arms and legs and move around. Feet come in search of mine; arms rise, flail, and press down on mine to pin me. A faint frown appears as snores mix with groans, as if she’s trying to tell me to turn the light off even while she’s asleep… and it’s all rather cute, even when I’m trying to extricate myself to do just that and set my alarm.
I can’t get mad; it’s rather endearing, even when a sweeping arm knocks my book flying.
And even being in another room is no defence – if she registers that I’m in another room so as not to disturb her, she moans and groans and tuts louder until I take the hint and join her.
Of course, I have told her all about this, and tease her mercilessly. She feels no shame about it. Well, not much. Maybe the occasional blush…