Herewith, my stab at a piece of fiction. The story, so much as it exists in my head, occurs over a period of a single day. Please be gentle...
* * *
She awoke to the feeling of his leg lying heavy over hers, his arm a solid mass on her hip. The stale smell of sweat hung in the air. From the sounds of his breathing - deliberately deep and even - it was clear that he was ignoring the kids' raised voices, drifting up with increasing volume from the living room below. Clearly there was some sort of disagreement, likely over which cartoon to watch, which was escalating rapidly. With any luck it wouldn't come to blows before she made it downstairs.
Sighing deeply and fighting the urge to elbow him sharply in the ribs, she extricated herself from his limbs, skin slick with sweat. It was not yet 7:00 am, and she was already irritable. She headed for the shower, mentally checking over the list of tasks, errands and activities she had planned for the day. Soccer practices for both of the children - at different times, of course. A trip to the mall for new running shoes for the kids and a shower gift for the secretary at work. Grocery shopping, of course, by which time she could be fairly assured that the kids would be cranky and irritable themselves, making the trip something akin to the climax of any recent horror movie. Finally, dinner with friends, planned weeks ago on a wave of optimism and now colliding disastrously with an already overfilled day.
And somewhere in this day she had to find a moment of quiet and relative privacy in which to tell her husband that she couldn't possibly live another day with him.