Last night, after turning off the lights and whispering wishes for sweet dreams, Craig curled his arm over my side & his head into the base of my neck and lay there, falling asleep.
This might not seem like a lot to most people, but Craig and I do not sleep entwined, arms and legs in a knot of a person.
No no, we can’t, we have radically different body temperatures.
During the day, Craig can wander around wearing jeans and a tee-shirt while I need a cardigan, and a jacket. And sometimes also a scarf. Bizarre.
He swears it’s because he was born in the desert (UAE) and as such? immune to the cold. I think he’s just a robot.
But as soon as the sun dips below the hills and we depart for bedfordshire* all of a sudden Craig requires a duvet during all seasons of the year, and sometimes a blanket as well, whereas I need the window open and sleep below just the sheet. With wet hair. Occasionally, on extremely frosty nights I will use the duvet but most of the time? Our bed ends up looking like this:
If (IF) we do end up falling asleep touching, as soon as Craig is completely unconscious, he starts twitching.
I thought it might have just been when we were completely curled together but I experimented (hee) and even if I leave one arm lying over him, or a hand, ONLY THE AREA I AM TOUCHING BEGINS TO TWITCH.
Craig’s subconscious hates me**.
He often accuses me of stealing all the room in the bed. But actually? what happens is I scoot closer to him (I tend to get cold after a while, usually around 2am, what with the wet hair & open window & sheet & all) and he subconsciously scoots AWAY FROM ME. Hateful.
And on top of the heat differences, and the twitching, and the scooting? I can’t stand feeling anyone’s breath on me while I am trying to get to sleep. Not even my own***.
So last night, pretending like we could sleep in a knot? I knew that Sir C did miss me as much as I missed him.
We lay for minutes and pretended like we were falling asleep, pretended we were in the movies, but we can only be ourselves****, he gave up & I let him leave, his breath had been damn distracting. I snaked my feet over and rested them against his calf. The one thing we can manage. Our connection through the night.
* Yes. I am a whimsical character from 1950s Britain. Why do you ask?
** I’m sure it doesn’t really.
*** Good Lord we sound crazy. Is it just us? How do YOU sleep?
**** I wouldn’t have us any other way.