Sleeping. Alone.
Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking right now: I slept most of my life alone, so why should it bother me now? Well, here's why. Because until I moved to Dublin, GA, in June, I rarely slept in a house by myself. Ahhhhhhh, you say. Makes more sense now. I'm not so bothered by sleeping in a bed by myself--in fact, I rather enjoy spreading out from end to end, or, like my boyfriend makes fun of me for, sleeping width-ways instead of longways. (I do, of course, love waking up to said boyfriend's arm around me, but we all need a little alone time).
The problem is sleeping alone in my house. I would say living alone is the problem, except I have no problem during the day or the evening when I'm watching TV, doing admin work, or cooking dinner. Nope, it all comes from SLEEPING alone. I have an overactive imagination (and I've seen too many horror movies thanks to my college roommates) so every bump, thump, and splat turns into someone breaking into the house, ghosts, or just plain creepy animals waiting for me outside my window.
Yes, I know I'm being childish. But seriously, what's a girl got to do to get a little shut-eye around here?!?!
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