I’m just lazily flopped on my tiny RV sofa thing waiting for the spasms to slow down enough I can go to bed and just surfing horse blogs, etc…when I hear something-not-my-air-conditioning-or-normal-night-sounds. Breathing. Raspy, slow, sort of quiet breathing coming from somewhere to my left. I freeze and jolt and stare into the darkness toward my bedroom, squinting hard to see if there’s some random boogey monster in there or if I’m just losing my mind.
There’s no monster? So I turn back to the computer screen.
The breathing starts again. Rasp.  Wheeze. Rasp.
CAN YOU NOT.
Rassssp. WHEEZE.
At this point, I figure my trailer is haunted by an asthmatic Civil War dude (it’s always got to be a Civil War dude ghost) and I move to investigate/ghostbust/grab my valuables and head to less haunted shores/whatever needs doing.
That’s when I realize that the breathing is actually me. Myself. My own nose. I just couldn’t hear it out of my right ear on account of the seatback I was half smushed into.
SPARK ISTG