Not exactly like sawing wood, but irritating enough

I’m a snorer.  I can’t help it.  Most of the time, if I snore at all, it’s quiet enough and not constant enough to bother John.  (Or so he says.  It certainly doesn’t bother me.)  Unfortunately, we had a little change in the weather recently, and I’ve been the tiniest bit congested the last two nights.  Just enough to start snoring.  Just enough to keep John from sleeping.  His reaction to my snoring?  Jiggle the bed with his leg.  It’s like a small earthquake, but I know it’s a signal from John that means “Ohmygodyou’resnoringpleasestopNOW.”  So I roll over onto my side and try to go back to sleep withOUT snoring.  It doesn’t last.  More bed-jiggling, more rolling over, more guilt on my part ’cause the last thing I want to do is keep John from sleeping, and while all this is going on, neither of us is quite awake enough to consider moving to the guest room.  This morning, though, that was the first thing on my mind.  I’m awake, I’m exhausted, and I’m sleeping in the other room tonight.

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