The Opera that is my rest

Somewhere between the time I go to sleep and HE comes to bed is the prelude to a dream. It begins with the awareness of a large object dropping off a ledge centimeter by millisecond.....HIS leg moving from a bent position to straight...bit...by....bit until I reach the near point of chopping it off with the large saw I should keep by the bed....oh yes and the sounds that accompany it.Mud wrestlers make less gurgles and sizzles. Still one could get used to that until it stops... and the high pitched whistling begins. The little black dog has tried everything from groaning, barking and finally flopping her whole body on top of HIS head...but it continues now for a split second stopping giving the wakeful false hope it has ended. I start to cough, hoping HIS germaphobia will kick in and he will turn over pulling the blessed pillow and quilt over his head. It is 5:45 AM. Score 5 hrs for him 25 minutes for Dula and I.