4:44 a.m.
Note the time. There I was sleeping soundly, maybe dreaming or not, when me left leg gripped me in such a leg cramp I have not visited for months and drew me whole body taut as a fiddle string.
Oh, how I hate them. There's little I can do in such circumstance. It's been probably six or seven months since I had me last such seizure of me loin. There I was, laying next to me wife of several years, who was beginning to chug-snore between her sweet little inhal and exhalations, one little "huhnk" so plain I chose to concentrate upon it instead of me own dilemma as it were, wit' me left foot toes pointed toward Dulut' and me sweaty forehead--yah, for now I was in the dregs of normalcy withdrawl, me demons a ragin' wit' me mucular form agin me will and all that--pointed toward Crookston.
I dint want to wake the woman, Lord I know she was tired from the weekend's festivities, but it was... 'ironic' perhaps, there I was me leg muscles all but castrating me, me whole body in a rasslin' match agin being swept into the vortex, tied into a knot an' all that--and she wakes not. If'n I but-think of breathin' funny she knows it. She's alert to me verbal orations of all 45-ways you've cut off your finger (Saturday night's story was a dinger)--yet here I am stiff as a pine board and she stirs not a muscle, not a whimper, w-w-what or why. How could she?
Suddenly I feel unsafe that, though I'm closin' me eyes at night unsure that I'll see morning if not for me lovely super-alert-though-her-eyes-are-closed life-guard sleepin' lightly beside me, she actually sleeps and snores on the job. ARGH!
Me leg relaxes a little and I attempt to slide outa bed when me left elbow suddenly leaves its mooring agin the mattress and almost plummets me whole body to the floor--but does she awake? Not on me life. Even though I jar the bed violently and force meself back on the mattress and to stand upright in one fell swoop and walk one stiff-leggedly into the gloaming of the livingroom on me route to the mustard bottle in the refrigerator, I hear not a change of patter nor squeak of breathin' alteration, the woman is in la-la land, asleep, in bed, as though everyt'ing is all right wit' da world.
I try to massage me thigh muscle and it works after a fashion, that and being upright to strain against its grip, and I twist open the cap of the mustard bottle and squeeze three tablespoons of yellow mustard into it, one at a time--and swallow them down as if it was but breakfast cereal. Yum! Mustard!
Me wife of several years now continues sleepin' as I hobble to the basement bathroom and toilet facility a bit more mobile than before, to the bottle of potassium on me medicine & vitamin shelf. I jog out four of the little white pills and swallow all of them with a good cup-worth of water--then another. My leg begins to relax, because of the mustard, the potassium, the activity of massage and exercise, and the mental idea that all this would help me, helps me enough to bravely sit down to write this memoir--as me wife snores blissfully away upstairs. Alas. Even the day awakes... Tis sunrise.
Note the time. There I was sleeping soundly, maybe dreaming or not, when me left leg gripped me in such a leg cramp I have not visited for months and drew me whole body taut as a fiddle string.
Oh, how I hate them. There's little I can do in such circumstance. It's been probably six or seven months since I had me last such seizure of me loin. There I was, laying next to me wife of several years, who was beginning to chug-snore between her sweet little inhal and exhalations, one little "huhnk" so plain I chose to concentrate upon it instead of me own dilemma as it were, wit' me left foot toes pointed toward Dulut' and me sweaty forehead--yah, for now I was in the dregs of normalcy withdrawl, me demons a ragin' wit' me mucular form agin me will and all that--pointed toward Crookston.
I dint want to wake the woman, Lord I know she was tired from the weekend's festivities, but it was... 'ironic' perhaps, there I was me leg muscles all but castrating me, me whole body in a rasslin' match agin being swept into the vortex, tied into a knot an' all that--and she wakes not. If'n I but-think of breathin' funny she knows it. She's alert to me verbal orations of all 45-ways you've cut off your finger (Saturday night's story was a dinger)--yet here I am stiff as a pine board and she stirs not a muscle, not a whimper, w-w-what or why. How could she?
Suddenly I feel unsafe that, though I'm closin' me eyes at night unsure that I'll see morning if not for me lovely super-alert-though-her-eyes-are-closed life-guard sleepin' lightly beside me, she actually sleeps and snores on the job. ARGH!
Me leg relaxes a little and I attempt to slide outa bed when me left elbow suddenly leaves its mooring agin the mattress and almost plummets me whole body to the floor--but does she awake? Not on me life. Even though I jar the bed violently and force meself back on the mattress and to stand upright in one fell swoop and walk one stiff-leggedly into the gloaming of the livingroom on me route to the mustard bottle in the refrigerator, I hear not a change of patter nor squeak of breathin' alteration, the woman is in la-la land, asleep, in bed, as though everyt'ing is all right wit' da world.
I try to massage me thigh muscle and it works after a fashion, that and being upright to strain against its grip, and I twist open the cap of the mustard bottle and squeeze three tablespoons of yellow mustard into it, one at a time--and swallow them down as if it was but breakfast cereal. Yum! Mustard!
Me wife of several years now continues sleepin' as I hobble to the basement bathroom and toilet facility a bit more mobile than before, to the bottle of potassium on me medicine & vitamin shelf. I jog out four of the little white pills and swallow all of them with a good cup-worth of water--then another. My leg begins to relax, because of the mustard, the potassium, the activity of massage and exercise, and the mental idea that all this would help me, helps me enough to bravely sit down to write this memoir--as me wife snores blissfully away upstairs. Alas. Even the day awakes... Tis sunrise.
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