I intended to do a post this week about our parents' recent and monumental move. However, my completely as-crazy-as-United States of Tara moment completely overrides that as the event of the week.
Right now I have the most hideous bruise on my arm. It's from a new form of sleepwalking (it's hereditary in our family) that I apparently evolved to a new form this week. I'm calling it sleep"leaping."
Now, to be truthful I actually have in fact "leapt" from my bed (while sleeping) on occasion in the past. Like to run from something that is chasing me into the bathroom, or to check on some pressing and timely matter that apparently needs my attention in the hall.
But this time, ahhhhh.... words can barely describe how ridiculous I feel every time I think of this, but then I just can't help laughing.
Okay, this time I decided to jump straight up onto my pillow. Like, standing on my pillow
Because there was this trail of colors on the ceiling that were going to drift right into the recessed light-can above our bed... think like something trailing down a drain... but on the ceiling... oh, and on the ceiling conveniently above my husband's side of the bed.
So of course I had to leap to catch them. Right? (Note, there were no substances of any kind involved in this incident. Just good old fashioned Thomas stress transformed into a nocturnal biological ritual of obsessive compulsiveness.)
The leap ended badly.
Basically I think I probably tripped on my husband's pillow (or head) which caused me to spectacularly crash into the bedside table. Ridiculous as it is to imagine, the bedside table on his side of the bed.
Now all of this happened in no more than three seconds from the first leap-up to the last crashing item hitting the floor. And let me tell you, everything crashed to the floor.
But because I also have eerily quick self-preservation sleep reflexes, I had already sprung back to my side of the bed (heart pounding and arm, and hip, and knee already hurthing) by the time my husband could slurrily exclaim "what the hell!?" as he (only half-awake) picked up his iPad and the Frank Lloyd Wright knockoff Target lamp that bruise-scratched the heck out of my arm.
I just breathily and quickly dismissed it with an "oops, sorry, nothing." And then he just went back to sleep.
The next morning he just thought I had knocked everything over reaching across him to turn off the light or something. No idea I had been practicing Mr. And Mrs. Smith caliber stunts across the headboard to create such a mess.
I'm that good at sleep leaping.
I had insomnia for the rest of that night to say the least. That's okay. I had to catch up on my episodes of United States of Tara. Which made me feel sane. I mean, compared to multiple personalities...
what's the harm in a good leap every now and then?