Fickle Wanters

I never know, exactly what it is, that I want.

When I’m hot I want the air conditioning on, feeling the need to be cooler.

So why it is when I am cold, I want the heat on to be warmer.

It is never “just so”.

When I eat sweet I want salt.  When I eat salt I want sweet.

The other day I was telling Husband of a concern or two I have about him.   When he sleeps he puffs out loud puff balls of air.  Or snores loudly.  Both of these snoring techniques I put in one category:  annoying.   OR.   He is in such a deep sleep that I have woken on numerous occasions to think with horror, and quite with seriousness, that he was dead.  One night I was nearly in tears because his skin was cold and his chest was not moving.

I had to shake him to make sure he was still alive.

He was alive.

I could have slapped him.

When I pointed these issues out to him he said “so no matter what I do I cannot please you”.   Well, fine, if that’s how you want to take it and it’s the only thing you get out of that.

He totally missed the point.

I was concerned.

I was concerned.

I was concerned.

Whichever form of emphasis is more believable, please accept.

The point is when he snores loudly or puffs air balls all night I long I want him to breathe normally and with rhythm.  Or.  When he is so soundly asleep that his body apparently doesn’t need air nor does his skin need warmth, again, I want him to breathe normally and with rhythm.

There are days when I so badly want to go on a bike ride.  Or go for a run.  But I don’t want to go to the trouble of getting ready to go work out.

I want to lose weight but I eat Giant Kit Kat bars.

I don’t want to get old.  But I don’t want to die.

There seems to be, as Husband points out, no pleasing me.

There is more to this than that.

I just haven’t figured it out yet.