if I were married last night…

I tossed and turned for hours last night.
I couldn’t get comfortable- I kept bunching up pillows and stuffing them under my body, trying to bring some sort of relieve to my stiff, aching back.
I ended up wrapping a twisted-up down comforter around my body until I found a position that was comfortable.
The ibuprofen I’d taken earlier had brought little relief and every breath felt like knives being jabbed into my spine.
Then I thought about how this scenario might play out if I were married.
Then I laughed at the possibilities.
Hopefully my future husband thinks it's as funny as I do.
I suppose it would have gone something like this:

Me- *whispering* Husband?
Silence.
Me- *whispering a bit louder* Husband.
Silence. Then snoring. Then more silence.
Me- *whispering loudly, almost talking* Husband!
Deep breath. Silence. Husband rolls over on his side.
Me- *fake loud, violent coughing, I sit up quickly and grab his arm like I’m choking*
Husband asks “Are you okay?”
Me- “Oh you’re awake? I totally thought you were sleeping. Would you mind cracking my back? I can’t breathe.”

Secrets, Secrets

I make a living working the IT helpdesk for a small University. It's not a particularly unusual line of work, but I typically interact with people when they... let's just say... aren't at their best. And it is in these moments of frustration, anger, weakness and fear that I see what no one wants to see. Ever. People get mean with me. They whine. They cry. They sob. They yell. (Oh, do they ever yell) They lie. They spill their guts.

In fact, I know how to turn a "normal" conversation into a "that was weird" conversation faster than you can imagine. I just get nervous. But for some reason people feel very... at ease with me. I guess I just make people feel like they're in a confession booth. and I'm the priest. and they tell me their secrets.

Confession is good for the soul. Usually.

But what I want to know is- *whose* soul are we talking about? Yours? or mine? Because let me just tell you right now- I don't want to know your secrets.

Don't get me wrong- I am 100% available to my girlfriends when it comes to getting down to business-bearing your soul-confession. I'm not talking about serious-business I-did-insertsecretsinhere-again-today confessions. That's not what I'm getting at here.

I'm talking about those secrets that you're just DYING to share. The "I ate 5 red velvet cupcakes last night to see if it would turn my poop red... and it DID!" secrets. Or the "One time... I cross-dressed all weekend while my wife was out of town. I just wanted to see what it was like" secrets. (um... Michael Scott much?)

I don't want to know that crap. Seriously.

So. When you feel like sharing those with me, please think twice. I know something about me just screams "tell me your secrets!!" (I'm working on getting this fixed, I promise) but I beg you- when you get the urge to spill it to me, please- just... don't.