Hubster seems to have developed the same type of illness The Boy decided to share with the rest of the known world.
He's coughing and hacking and sneezing and blowing and groaning and being all stuffed up. I have to keep reminding him to cover his face with his t-shirt so he doesn't spread his plague around to the rest of us.
But let's face facts.
I have to sleep with him.
It's either that, or I sleep on the couch. He refuses to give up the comfort of our bed. And if I go downstairs to sleep on the couch, he wakes me up whenever he leaves for work at 3 a.m. Not intentionally, but he has to go through the living room to the kitchen, make a cup of coffee, cough and hack, open the refrigerator, put creamer in his coffee, cough and hack a few more times, slam the refrigerator door, stomp down the stairs to the garage, slam that door, open the garage door, start up the truck, back out, close the garage door, and drive off.
It's a symphony bound to lull anyone to dreamland.
Instead, I take the sleeping pill, plug in the MP3 player, don the CPAP mask, and hope for the best. Twice so far this week I've been awakened by the Horrendous Hacking. So today I made an appointment for Hubster the Hacker with the Good Doctor. Hopefully he will get some juiced-up cough syrup to take so that both of us can get some rest.
If not, you may find me sleeping in The Girl's room.
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