My alarm went off the other morning, jarring me out of a gloriously deep sleep. Wiping the drool from my flattened pillow, I lifted my head to assess the damage. Yep, just as I figured – I had managed to occupy the complete diagonal of my queen size bed. Head in the top left corner, feet in the bottom right. And in between, a jumble of blankets and sheets that make it appear as if a tornado whipped through my bedroom during the night.
Nope – not a tornado. Just little old me – the Tasmanian Devil of sleep.
The first person to criticize my wild sleeping habits was not a boyfriend, but my mother. As a kid, I liked to watch TV in her bedroom and would inevitably fall asleep. At some point, she says, she would wake up in the middle of the night with my foot basically in her face. For whatever reason that I can assuredly blame on my overactive subconscious imagination, I had flipped over and around during the night and ended up with my head hanging off the foot of the bed. This is not all that unusual for me, even as an adult.
Of course, a few men have fallen victim to my spastic sleeping, but usually only the ones of the long-term boyfriend variety. See, I can contain my sleeping habits for a little while when necessary. Just long enough to get through a long, romantic weekend. It’s true, I never get a really good night’s sleep when I do this (how can you when you are trying to behave yourself and sleep at the same time?), but I usually plan for some quality nap time to make up for it.
So what about those few men who have made it to the more consistent overnight status? Yeah, they’ve suffered. Poor Only Child has awakened more than a few times to one of my high-pitched screams (hey, they wake me up too!) or had to fend off some blows while I act out whatever kung fu dream decided to visit me that night. I remember one poor soul who made the mistake of letting me go to sleep angry. He woke up with a punch right in the face – and a black eye to remind him not to do it again.
I promise I’m not this bad every night (though the sheets ending up bunched in a ball by my head is definitely a nightly occurrence), but it happens just enough to make me nervous. I’ve told Wine Guy about it, but I still dread the first time it actually happens. Right now we pretty much only spend weekend nights together and I can exert some slumber restraint for those nights (again, with naps every Saturday and Sunday afternoon to catch up). But he already complains that I hog the bed now, which scares the crap out of me because I know how much worse it can (and will) get.
I suppose I should warn him not to piss me off before I fall asleep!
Dismissed and sleep well.