4 AM

Ian woke me at around four o'clock this morning; he snuggled just a little too close, held on a little too tight, and the result was waking me up. My first thought was "no way in hell, mister, not right now" but other than trying to practically staple himself to me he wasn't trying anything. So, fine, I rolled onto my side and was going to toss a leg over his and get a little closer, when I realized his eyes were open and he looked terribly upset.

"I have to tell you something."
"All right."
"Because it's been really bothering me and I should have told you a long time ago."
"Okay."
"Last month I ran into a woman I used to work with, and holy shit, I am really sorry."

Now my heart is pounding because he is seriously upset and I have no idea what he's about to spill. I wanted to pull away but I couldn't make myself move and he wasn't letting go.

"At the mall. And I bought her lunch."
"Lunch."
"Pizza."
"That's it? You ran into an old friend and bought her lunch?"
"No. There's more."
"You have exactly five seconds to spill it."
"She helped me pick out the cover for your iPad. I am really sorry."

Color me confused.

"So you had lunch with someone, and she helped you buy a gift for me?"
"I'm really, really sorry."
"And what's the problem?"
"I ate an entire pizza."
"Well, that's gross but what are you sorry about?"
"I didn't save you any."

No, I didn't hit him, but I kind of wanted to.

"Who'd you have lunch with?"
"Marjorie."
"Marjorie. Ian, she's like eighty years old!"
"Yeah, but she only had one slice. And she said you would hate the cover with the flowers on it and said you'd like the red one better. I'm sorry."
"Well, she was right, I think."
"It was pepperoni."
"Oh my God."
"I'm sorry."

I had to forgive him three or four times before he stopped apologizing, and now he swears he has no memory of this conversation. And neither of us knows what he was really apologizing for, eating an entire pizza or relying on someone else to help him shop.

I'm betting on the pizza because that really is just so gross.

At 4 a.m.

He sat up in bed, looked around the room like he was confused, and said, "It's just a BB gun. What could go wrong?"

I think I'm glad he keeps his guns under serious lock and key.

Tonight's 3am gem:

He woke me up with his mumbling, but he got my attention when he slapped my ass and said, "Paper covers rock!"

I'm giving him half an hour to get out of whatever game he's dreaming about, and then waking his ass up.

If I'm awake, he deserves to be, too.

For years Ian did not sleep well or especially deeply. We usually crawled into bed at the same time, but once I was asleep he got up and quietly played around online or read; if he fell asleep, he inevitable woke up an hour or two later and was up for the better part of the night.

Since he quit his job, or more accurately since he both quit and I was released from the hospital, he's been sleeping normally for the most part. He falls asleep easily and if he doesn't have anything specific to get up for in the morning, he'll sleep for a solid 8 hours. And to say that thrills me is an understatement.

But now, he also talks in his sleep. I can rarely make out what he's saying, but once in a while he's crystal clear, even if I can't figure out where he's coming from. An hour ago I woke up and he had his hand under my shirt, and I was thinking it wasn't exactly ideal, but if he wanted it that badly, sure, I'd play along. He looked right at me and said, "I like these. We should keep them." His head dropped to the pillow, and he was gone again, lost in whatever freaky dream he was having.

I got up, just in case he changes his mind in whatever world he's in and decides he wants something a little different, and because honestly, I had to write this down in case I forget it.

I woke up at three thirty this morning when Ian rolled over and slid his hand across my stomach. His eyes were half open and I assumed he was either just snuggling close or he wanted something, so I asked him what he was doing.

"Looking for Narnia."

He closed his eyes, pulled me close, and I didn't hear another word out of him.

He doesn't remember this, either, but I sure as hell want to know why he was looking for Narnia in my navel.