11 June 2002


I woke up at some ungodly hour Monday morning. I'd been driven into the top left corner of the mattress, with barely enough room for my pillow. One arm and one leg were hanging off the bed. I was contorted at a strange angle, trying to keep from falling off the bed.

I rolled over onto the floor and studied the situation. Sonya was laying diagonally across the bed, top right corner to bottom left corner, arms and legs outspread to claim the most territory possible. Roxy was laying on the other side, curled in a neat little ball. She raided her head and looked at me.

"If you weren't so big you wouldn't have this problem," the dog said to me.

"Shut up, dog," I mumbled back. I staggered off to the bathroom and peed.

Back in the bedroom, and Sonya was still covering the majority of the bed.

"Roll over, Sonya," I said quietly, trying to get back in bed.


"Sonya, move over."

Nothing. I shook her a little harder.


Still nothing. I gave her the hard, running-late-for-work shake and raised my voice a bit.

"Hey, Sonya."

Her eyes snapped open.

"What? What? What?"

"You're in the middle of the fucking bed."

"Oh? Sorry." 

And she rolled back to her side of the bed.