Sleep tends to settle upon him heavily and all at once. Just like that, he's gone, twitching at times and breathing steadily. I am a different story. I have to be eased into it. Each night, sleep undertakes the task of sneaking up on me, catching me completely unawares, until I finally settle into my pillows and give way to heavy eyelids.
The trouble is, I like to putter. That is, productively do nothing of real significance. Edit pictures until my vision blurs, lose myself in a novel that has been calling to me from my nightstand for weeks, re-watch old episodes of The Office and come to the realization that I AM Stanley. Undeniably. I like to scribble in my journal things I'll never say to people I haven't talked to in years. I love laying in warm covers, cuddled next to him with our cat sprawled out shamelessly on my chest, purring as I scratch her furry little ears that twitch as the furnace turns on and off again.
I am completely enamored with that place just between asleep and awake. I find it hazy and magical and comforting somehow. And this is why I am such a challenge for sleep.
But when I finally am ready to surrender, turn off the lamp and roll around until comfortable, Drew seems to wake up, only just barely. He can never remember it in the morning. He reaches out for me in a sort of a panic, his eyebrows scrunched together, and kisses me, says I love you and goodnight. It happens most every night, like a habit. And I ask you, what is more endearing than sleep-kissing?