The Symphony Of A Thousand Saws

It must be the hours we're keeping; the midnight Scrabble games, staying up late watching movies and visiting friends and family sometimes until two and three in the morning.

This can be the only explanation for the man who morphs into Darth Vader as soon as he slips beneath the sheets. Not enough shut eye. Sheer exhuastion. For all of you who think Eddie is the sweetest thing this side of the Mississippi, you don't know the sheer hell of it all.

This has been our conversation almost every night for the past week:

"Babe!" (loud stage whisper) "Turn over. You're snoring."

No movement.

"Babe!"

"Huh?"

"You're snoring."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

He then turns over to get into another position, taking every slip of bedding with him as he makes his turn, and promptly starts snoring again.

"Babe!"

"What??" he says, as if I'm keeping him awake.

"You're snoring again."

"I am not. I haven't even fallen asleep yet."

"OK, fine, so you're wide awake; but you're STILL FUCKING SNORING."

"YeahokaywhateverI'mnotevenasleepyetIcan'tbesnoring" he mumbles.

He thinks I'm kidding. We actually discuss it during the day, when the snore isn't happening. And he maintains that he's not snoring. Like I'm making it up. As if I get up in the middle of the night, just to wake him and sit there while he argues that he's not snoring. I have even recorded him. AND played it back to him. Yet he still thinks he doesn't snore.

Obviously, his sweet nature also gets the best of me, because even after sitting up in bed in the middle of the night trying to convince him that he sounds like Luke's father, I don't ever send him to the couch.

Not even when he rolls over in my direction, nestles his face in the crook of my neck and bathes my ear with the sound of a thousand saws cutting enough wood to build the next Taj Majal.