My husband doesn't understand why I can sleep 9 hours and still mumble a string of naughty words when he tries to wake me up in the morning. When his head hits the pillow, LITERALLY, he may be lucid for about 4 minutes. Then anything he says cannot be held against him in a court of law. And there he stays until the alarm goes off at 5 or 6 the next morning. I wouldn't say he necessarily springs out of bed but he definitely doesn't hit the snooze button so many times that the letters have begun to rub off. What he doesn't understand is that my nights are VERY busy. I frequently walk from the French Quarter in New Orleans to the open-air market in Savannah. I also swim across bays and drive cattle. These are just 3 examples of what it's been like for me in the past week:
1. I dreamed I was on a cruise with a smattering of sorority sisters. I was drinking a Bloody Mary that was less blood and more Mary and ended up dumping it over the rail of the ship. What woke me up was the sound of the water hitting the carpet when I dumped the cup that always sits next to the bed. I immediately stopped - not because I was pouring water on the carpet but because I didn't want to wake up Neal. And then he commented the next morning "aren't you glad your laptop wasn't sitting there like it always is?" Uh, yes...yes I am.
2. I had a very illicit affair with a friend's husband in the garage of my deceased grandparents' house. Neal knows the details on this dream because I woke up feeling irrationally guilty and did not want to carry that around with me for the rest of my life. And my mom knows but she's a psychologist and I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't losing my mind. Anyway, I totally blame this dream on the combination of going to Hustler that evening and reading a late-night email from the friend about her husband. I am almost certain that she doesn't read my blog..she doesn't even have a Facebook profile. So, I feel OK about telling the rest of the world.
3. And to top it off last night, I dreamed that I was at a friend's house and we were taking his pets for a walk. I was in charge of Lola. Lola had a pig's face and body but the fur of a chocolate labradoodle. He was walking Simon. Simon looked like a miniature pony but instead of a tail, he had my parents' teal grean canister vacuum from the late 70's attached to his hind end. Eventually we found a way to disconnect the canister so that only the hose was left dragging.
I have tried everything to keep these nightly escapades from ocurring. I quit watching TV at night altogether for awhile. I quit reading before bed. I tried meditation and listening to Gregorian monk chanting. Nothing helps. So, I simply accept the fact that each evening I will be knee-deep in something until Neal leans over and asks me to stop reciting "If you like it, then you shoulda put a ring on it".