Our problem is, Ned doesn't get sleepy till, like, 1:00 in the morning, and I don't understand people like him. I mean, when I was 20, sure, I was raring to go at 1:00. Now I get logy at about 10:30. The result of this is that I never go to bed with Ned unless there's hanky-pank promised, and then when that's over he'll be all, "Okay, getting up for awhile. Be back later."
I realize there are worse things in the world, but it bugs.
So, this morning I woke up around 9:00 and there was Ned, sawing logs. I don't mean literally, because that would be weird.
I got up, made coffee, fed everyone who lives on four legs, checked my email and still. Logs. Ned.
I went back in there and sat on the bed, willing Ned to awaken with the amazing powers of my mind and also with the cough I somehow developed overnight. I don't really feel bad except I have this nagging cough, which I assume is the eboli. Ned knows someone who pronounces it "eee-bowl-lie," and you know that thing where you start mispronouncing a word on purpose and then you find yourself grasping for how it's really pronounced when you're in public? Kind of like veeeeedeo.
Cough, cough, I said as I stared at sleeping Ned.
Cough.
I really wasn't doing that on purpose even though I wished he'd wake the fuck up and entertain me already, but finally Ned rolled over. "What's wrong? Why are you coughing?"
"I have a cough, I don't know," I told him, establishing my disease du jour. "It's probably eee-bowl-lie." I got under the covers. "If I were a Charlie's Angel, I'd be Shelly Hack," I said, growing fond of myself. "If I were your money holder, I'd be the coffer. If I were a skater, I'd be Peggy Fleming."
"What if you were a quiet bunny? What would you be then?" asked Ned, as he rolled over.
Well. There's no answer for that.
Alone and hacking,
June
