Day Forty Eight: Per Chance to Dream

Today I made a raspberry tart for my friend Charise . And in return, she gave me the promise of sleep in the form of homeopathic sleeping pills. 

I think that I've mentioned this before, so please forgive me for being redundant: I can't sleep. It's usually Dave's fault, especially if you consider his habit of waking up every few hours to act out something in his dreams. 

It all started twelve years ago when I noticed that he was wearing sandals to sleep. When I asked him about the nocturnal footwear, he explained that the previous night he dreamt a giant salamander was sneaking around the room and he jumped out of bed to wrestle it. But of course there was no giant salamander. And when Dave jumped up, he hit his toe against the bed frame and broke it (the toe and not the bed frame). This should have been my first warning.

While he usually dreams of giant bugs and reptiles, he can be a little more creative.  I once woke up with Dave patting my head down with a pillow. He said there were burning marbles falling from the ceiling and he wanted to put out the small fires in my hair. Why the marbles didn't get him on his side of the bed is left up to speculation since Dave has chosen not to talk about it any more. He said that I got so mad at him for "trying to smother" me that he doesn't want to re-live it. In his mind, he was trying to save me, but when I woke up to a pillow on my face, I had other ideas.

I shared this little Dave story with my Mom, who was understandably concerned. She once watched some tv news program about a man who allegedly killed his wife in his sleep and then stuffed her body into the pool filter. During the first few years, she would call me and ask about the whole "sleeping thing," and  I would respond coyly by saying that she didn't want to hear about my sex life. When she pressed the matter further, I said that the tv man who killed his wife could not have done it in his sleep. I explained that once you go to the trouble of stuffing a human body into a pool filter, it's premeditation--not sleep walking. I also pointed out that we didn't have a pool so I couldn't possibly end up in a pool filter, which my Mom did not find amusing at all.

Over the years, my Mom eased up on her fear of me being stuffed into a pool filter and started to enjoy these random stories of Dave's nocturnal escapades. They were, for the most part, pretty funny. Of course they weren't so funny when I was actually in the moment. But in the light of day, and with much coffee consumed, I could laugh at the ridiculousness. 

Recently, Dave told me that he wore ear plugs to bed only to find them in his mouth in the morning. Given the fact that he often remarks how full his stomach feels when he wakes up, I can't help but think that he was trying to eat the foam ear plugs in his sleep. 

This evening over some raspberry tart and tea, I told the ear plugs story to Charise. We were laughing so hard that tears were forming in the corners of our eyes. I'm glad that I could share it with her. I certainly miss sharing them with my Mom.

Here's to a little nighttime aid and the promise of a full night's sleep. Good night!