The strange things people do in their sleep…

I do weird things in my sleep, or so I’ve heard.

It’s kind of funny, when thinking about it, that people who would be in the know about what I do in my sleep never deem it worthy to inform me of those things in a reasonable time frame.

I didn’t find out that I talk in my sleep until I was 22 years old – while my husband was deployed – and walked out into my parents living room one day only for them to ask me, “Were you talking on the phone last night?”

Um, no.

So, after being informed that they’d heard me talking, I decided to call Best Friend. I asked, “Do I talk in my sleep?”

Her response was, “Yeah.”

That was one of those how could I know that if you didn’t tell me?! moments.

Countless sleepovers throughout the years (we used to spend all weekend and nearly every day of summer and school breaks together), and she NEVER TOLD ME.

I’ve been known to sleep with my legs straight up in the air, tickle my arms, and do all sorts of EXTREMELY strange things. I think those two things are enough for anyone to know in that department. Too much, actually.

Yes, I tickle my arms in my sleep sometimes. I know it’s weird. TRUST ME; I know it’s weird.

Talking in my sleep was the most disturbing of things I’d heard I did by far. Needless to say that when my husband was preparing to return home from that deployment . . . I was afraid, despite having slept next to him for however long before that unwanted parting.

I’m unsure how long it took for Husband to inform me that I do not SPEAK in my sleep. I mumble – incoherent words that my brain must know, but not want let out. I’m a mumbler in general though, so I shouldn’t be so surprised. Still, I AM surprised, as my mouth is a constant frustration-inducer (it so rarely does what I want it to). I’ve mumble-sang in my sleep once before. That was interesting to hear about.

After so long of being irritated that nobody deemed these things worthy of telling me, I’m kind of glad now. Husband and I were talking about this a few days ago, and I got so uncomfortable at some of the things I do (the mumbling, which I wake him up doing because sometimes I apparently argue with myself, or some unknown person in my dreams [I call it fair because he wakes me up grinding his teeth and giving me the occasional *knee-jerk* in the rear], heavy sighs that also wake him up [I suppose I’m as discontent in my sleep as I tend to find myself while awake . . . such is the curse of nothing ever being good enough to suit me]) that I’d rather ignore the fact it happens at all.

Now, my husband also does some things in his sleep. There’s the teeth-grinding, which has lessened significantly from when he and I first met. But he, also, talks in his sleep. Not as often as I do, because I allegedly do it nearly every time I sleep, but when he does . . . it’s clear.

While in Alabama a few months ago, he woke me up doing such a thing and the only two words I heard were, “Soul cairn.” He’d been playing Skyrim and he loves video games in general (as do I, but his love for them goes above and beyond). What can I say? There’s not often that I can wake up out of a dead-sleep and laugh my ass off; I usually don’t consider myself awake until I’ve had my eyes open for at least an hour. I did that day. I laughed for several days about that. I’m laughing about it again now.

But there was a one or two week time period about two months ago that was just . . . unprecedented. I’ve only heard him say things in his sleep a few times (which might be due to the fact that I am generally a HEAVY sleeper), so when it happened three times in that time period . . . I don’t even know.

Once, he woke me up laughing. I asked, “What are you laughing at?”

He was dreaming about a dude on skis falling.

Once, while he was napping, I asked him where the extension cord was. He said, “It’s under the fish tank.” This was after we’d returned to Kentucky. Our fish tank is still in Alabama, with our former roommate. He didn’t know he’d said it until I managed to wake him up by VERY firmly saying, “THE FISH TANK IS NOT HERE.” He informed me he was dreaming about the fish tank that time.

The one that will forever stick with me was me walking into the bedroom to inform him I was going over to my mamaw’s to eat potato soup (I believe). He sat straight up in bed and literally almost shouted, “Good day!” at me. I thought he was saying it just to say it, as he seemed completely coherent and being strange/random isn’t off-base for him. Imagine my surprise later when I bring it up and get the scrunched-eyebrows-confused-face and, “Did I really?”

Good day! is now a running joke with us, understandably so.

I’ll probably regret posting about the weird things I do in my sleep, but who really cares?

Hopefully somebody gets a laugh out of it.

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Dear previous owner of my cellphone number,

A year ago when I went into the store to buy a cellphone, I never could’ve known the trouble it would cause. It was my first awesome phone, rather than a passably cool phone. I was excited, especially given that I’d spent several years of my life cellphoneless and cut off from the majority of the world.

And then the calls started coming. I thought, naively, that they would stop – that they would stop after a certain amount of time had passed and all the people trying to find you, or your wife, or your brother (or whoever the hell you all are) realized that your number had changed.

They never stopped.

I do not appreciate having to have a spam-blocker app on my phone because of someone else.

I do not appreciate having to keep my phone on vibrate so the Doctor Who theme song that is my ringtone doesn’t cause my husband (or my sister) to wreck their cars while I’m riding with them. It’s always calls for you. People do not call me on my phone. People call you on my phone.

I do not appreciate waking up to a recording on my voicemail telling me that, if I am not you, to delete the message immediately without listening to it.

I do not like picking up my phone and hearing a recording about tax debt every other day.

I do not like vision centers calling about appointments for the female end of this trio of same-last-name-entity. Ten times in a year. How bad is your freaking eyesight?

I do not like all these recordings in general, as it gives me no one to speak with to inform them, “YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER.”

But they do not have the wrong number, do they?

No, because a person called – it sounded like a creditor or someone of that nature – and had a very interesting talk with me about how you’d given them this number JUST A WEEK AGO. I do not like being interrogated (asked my name on my own freaking phone) or asked, “Are you sure you don’t know [NAME].”

Yes, I am sure I do not know you. But I do know that . . . I’m quite positive I hate you.

I suppose this is what I get for being picky and asking for a phone number with as many even numbers as possible. This is what I’m going to call karmic-jackassery. It is my own fault, in that way.

You shall go unnamed here, but I hope on all that is holy that I never run into you (or that I never figure out who you all are past your names) because I’m quite certain I would throw something at all three of your faces. No, I wouldn’t really, but I like to think about it sometimes.

STOP GIVING MY NUMBER TO PEOPLE YOU OWE MONEY.

Thank you.

Have a wonderful life.

–         C

PS) By the sound of the voice of the man I spoke with very recently . . . he was not happy. I suggest you attempt – VERY HARD – to get your ducks in a row. It seems like you’ve got quite a lot of them. Thank you, so very much, for sending so many of those ducks my way. My life is so much more complete and wonderful because of all the little duckies quacking around.

🙂

Hello World. I am a moron. Nice to meet you.

You know that overwhelming feeling of panic that you have when you’re turning a doorknob and nothing happens?

You’re turning, you’re pulling (and YES, it IS a turn and pull door). Nothing.

And then your claustrophobia starts setting in. And then – in the span of about five seconds – you’re contemplating all the ways you could POTENTIALLY break this door to get it to open. And, “Hey, C. How ironic is it that you wrote a scene in one of your books, making a joke about a door being broken? BET IT’S REALLY FUNNY NOW, iddn’t it?”

Anyway, the door opened.

And apparently I’m talking to myself via blog.

I should probably sleep, but I can’t yet.

Wow. This isn’t as bad as jumping and nearly screaming when you catch your reflection in a pancake syrup bottle.

Hello World. This is me.

– C