I'm watching his chest rise and fall.  John always sleeps so easily.  Sometimes, sometimes like tonight, I think it's a good thing.  He never notices when I'm upset.  Sometimes I think I might kick him, wake the guy just to see what he'd do.  But, I'm too embarrassed. The one time I tried it, poor John thought I was in the mood, or something like that, and proceeded with his half sleep ridden version of lovemaking.  When I complained the next day, he apologized, saying only that he thought it was erotic, my waking him up like that.  Of course after his response, I felt stupid.  He had no idea I was upset.  I suppose really that might not have been such a bad reaction, though, the whole love making thing, perhaps if it were done with some sort of feeling, or the right person.  The problem is it never occurred to John that I might wake him up for any other reason, which makes his reaction to me purely physical, which isn't really so bad either given the right situation.  Anyway, it's the only reason why John ever wakes me up, sex that is, which makes his assumption about me both human and understandable.

Last week, though, I had a nightmare, something about bugs or spiders, maybe a wasp; yeah, I think that's what it was.  For some reason I always have bad dreams about things with stingers, trying to get around them, flick them off gracefully, only to get stung in the end. It's at that part, the stinging point, that I wake myself up thrashing beneath the covers.  I think I must of smacked John in the face the other night, because I woke up to him holding me, saying everything was going to be all right, nothing was going to get me.  I didn't have the heart to tell him it was only a wasp.

When I was a kid, I used to climb trees.  I'd take a book up with me, or a pair of binoculars; I told them they were good for watching birds, but really they were better for watching the neighbors' affairs.  Sometimes in the spring, when there were bees, wasps, caterpillars and asps, I would get trapped, stuck in the tree. Staring at whatever stinger lay below, I would watch it and wait until I could yell loud enough for my father to hear and come out to catch me when I jumped out and over the insect, or until the damned thing retreated on its own.  Sometimes I waited for what seemed like hours.