Thanks, Dad, for my Ability to Wake the Dead...

...and have them ask me to roll the fuck over 'cuz I'm fucking snoring.

Snoring. One more thing to add to the list of things happening to my body as I approach 30. Awesome.

Growing up, my father was the worst. Bringing up a close second was my brother. Now, it seems, I join the illustrious fold. AND it seems that rolling over on my side doesn't work to quell the ungodly noises escaping my lips as I sleep.

I've done some reading. As is my wont whenever there is a problem that needs solving, and turns out, that some people suffering from depression are actually suffering from sleep aopnea (sic) and sleep disruption. Could this be my problem? Could all my woes be due simply to a lack of good, solid sleep? Well, a novel idea to be sure. One worth looking in to. Also, apparently, Snoring can lead to diabetes, stroke, and heart attack. So, I got THAT to look forward to. Which is nice. I have some ideas for remedy however.

In the freakin' meantime, something's gotta give. Cuz, nothin' says lovin' like driving The Boyfriend out of the room and on to a too small sofa with a very convincing portrayal of a 450 pound man passed out after drinking an entire keg of Milwaukee's Beast.