Sleep walking, that is.
But now that you’ve got that Patsy Cline drawl stuck in your head, let’s talk about somnambulism.
Mine, more specifically.
And let’s start by saying this: at least there haven’t been any recent wild animal attacks reported, so I can rule out lycanthropy…that said, Saturday I woke up and Myrtle was in my building’s hallway. Locked out and losing her shit trying to get back in to the lux prison she calls home.
Sunday morning, I woke up with the TV remote in my bed. My TV is in the living room. There were chips lightly scattered around the couch and my laundry was half done.
My laundry was the one task I managed to complete Saturday. Whilst sleeping, I had apparently plucked clothes off hangers in my closet and started rewashing them. My work clothes, too, so yesterday was casual Sunday…
Both mornings I woke up naked.
I don’t sleep naked.
Usually – if you want to call this behavior “usual” – when this happens, I’m mentally or physically under a great deal of stress. I’m sick, or there’s a lot of pressure at work or I’m aggressively training and dieting.
Yeah, we know that last one ain’t happening.
Although, I think that working out and dieting too hard is the easiest of the three to explain. There’s been several occasions in my life where I’ve woken up with food debris on or around me. Once or twice I’ve actually “come to” butt naked doing a pretty good Asian squat in front of my fridge eating everything.
The most normal occurrence – in my opinion – is waking up having sex. Because that’s more normal than sleep eating, I guess. You’ll be glad to know that this only happens when I’m dating someone. I don’t actually think this belongs in the same category as doing laundry while I sleep, but it’s a fun episode that I’ve experienced several times throughout my life. It’s something that I’ve always considered an organic result of sleeping with someone, but my partners always insist that I woke them up and somehow simultaneously initiated sex. I have no memory of that, outside of waking up in the middle of something fun.
Maybe it does belong in the same category as the rest of this.
The funniest story of my involuntary nocturnal activities comes courtesy of Sacha. He tells a story about how I freaked him out one night by sitting bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night and then – in what he described as the voice of a game show announcer – saying, “Who next gets to touch my ass?!?”
He woke up freaking out and asked me what was wrong and I repeated myself.
“What?!?” he asked.
I said it again.
“Are you ok?”
“Who next gets to touch my ass?!?” I repeated a third time and then abruptly laid down and resumed sleeping normally.
The next day, I had no recollection of the episode.
This. This is what has possibly gone wrong in my life.
Well, I recall my mother recounting a similar story. She had been folding and putting away laundry at our house on LaCour. All us kids had been retired to our beds and she and her bestie – Unni – were chattering (and I sincerely hope this included a little vino!) away the evening while mom folded and put away laundry. My room was in the basement of our split-level ranch and the upper floor had a central kitchen at the top of the stairs with the living room and dining room to the left and three bedrooms and a bathroom to the right.
And the linen closet.
Unni was standing in the doorway of my parents bedroom facing the kitchen while mom put away sheets and towels. Apparently, I come walking down the hall – in PJs, I hope – and Unni and mom engage me in conversation.
Mom asks me what I’m doing and I tell her I’ve got to get ready for school. It’s probably not even 10:00 pm yet. Mom tries to reason with me and I guess I just keep insisting I’ve got to get ready for school. I need to take a shower. That type of talk.
Mom decides to match my crazy and suggests that I’m looking a little under the weather and maybe I should stay home from school today. It actually works! I agree and head back downstairs to bed.
I can’t imagine being a parent and watching your kid sleep walk down a flight of stairs! If there wasn’t wine before, hopefully mom broke out a glass of EJ after that!
I take a lot of good natured crap at work yesterday for showing up in jeans, but I also get to enjoy telling the story a couple of times. I’m telling the other manager, and he flat out says, “Dude, you’re stressed about something”. Basically, that’s what I assumed, although I’ve been waking up with the sweats. Not in the middle of the night, but rather as my alarm goes off. They last about an hour after waking…so maybe I’m coming down with something.
Last night, I go to bed determined to sleep the night through without getting any steps in. I pop a sleeping pill and chase it with a beer. Then toss back another while I fold laundry – that laundry, yes – and wait for it to kick in.
I congratulate myself this morning on a successful night of sleep, even though I still have the sweats…and feel high as a kite as I get ready for work. As I’m heading out the door, I discover my failure: my change jar has been moved. It’s an old school water jug that sits in the corner by my front door. A 5 gallon glass job, not those cheap plastic ones the Culligan man brings. I’ve moved it in front of the door.
But I’m running late, no time to dwell on it…but it freaks my shit out. I’m still a little crazed and moist as my train pulls into the airport and I’m just now thinking maybe I should have stayed home. Because as easy as it is to lay this at the feet of my job, it’s not stressful. I tried to embrace that logic yesterday, but all I could come up with is that I’m anxious about some loose ends at work. And I tied a couple of them off before leaving yesterday.
I don’t think it’s work. Which leaves me wondering if maybe I’m coming down with something. If I’m not, maybe it’s something else that’s just not right.
Who knows, maybe it’s just that I missed my acupuncture last week…we’ll see!