Nocturnal Bastards

Last night was a bitch. I went to bed knowing that my right knee was hurting me something awful, and I made a valiant effort to find positions that would allow it to bend (crutial), but not too much (even more crutial). It was fun, let me tell you. When you have the sort of pain where it feels best not to move at all, and you're the kind of sleeper I am that can't sleep well unless I toss and turn a fair bit, it's not very fun. No sirree Bob.

That might have been why I kept having the weirdest dreams.

Dream 1: Bruce and I are wandering around Kansas City, and he gets an urge to woo me. He calls up S (my boss), and she helps him pick out a stunning bouquet of flowers. And then she joined us on our romantic walk. It was strange.

Dream 2: Very elaborate dream, in which Robby is getting married to a guy who's pretty sure he doesn't like guys. But! His parents are really going to be disappointed if he's straight, and he'll let down everyone who thinks he's gay, etc. I spend the dream getting Robby ready for his wedding, while at the same time trying to convince him this isn't going to make him happy. It was odd.

Dream 3: Fuck, can't remember. But at one point during the early morning, I woke up to Bruce making funny noises. I waited until he'd calmed down, and gently asked if he was ok. He'd been laughing in his sleep, but he couldn't remember why. Strange, right?

We had the window open. I think it was all that night air.

Right after Bruce fell back to sleep (after the laughing incident), I decided I had to use the bathroom. I got up... or I tried to get up. It didn't work out so well. Even though I was being careful about my knee, it wasn't buying this nonsense about having to leave the bed, or move at all. It was very very painful trying to coax it to the toilet. When I got back to bed, I almost killed myself, because I remembered that I should have taken some Ibuprophen (which of course is... in the bathroom). So I got up again, took the medicine, and hobbled back to bed. I lay there for a while, wondering about my life, and about what my dad said on the phone the other night, "If it hurts like this now... well, it's probably not going to get any better any time soon." Thanks, Daddy.

I lay there in bed and contemplated things. My life, my pain. Now Bruce's, too. Why did I do this to him? What if I can't get around when I'm older? That's not fair to anyone. I should have stayed alone. And then the tears that had been forming couldn't hold back anymore, not at the thought of not being with my B, and I cried a little.

At the first tear, my wonderful Bruce heard me through his deep sleep, woke up and turned over and cuddled me and asked me what was wrong. I told him my knee hurt, and I was scared, and he said I shouldn't be, he was there. And held me when I fell asleep.

(I hope I don't regret this later - I can't stand being whiney about RA, but sometimes it's a bigger deal than others.)