My poor husband.
I am not sure how he deals with me.
You see I am a sleep walker/yeller/talker/mover/poker. Yep, that is the actual name of my condition. Okay it is my self given name for my self diagnosed condition.
I have always been a sleep talker. My sister and I both are but for some reason as time has progressed I have gotten worse. At times I know it is because of stress and anxiety. Other times I know it is because of a late night coffee session with friends. And then there are those times that I have nothing to blame it on.
Just the other night I woke up to Luke laughing at me, and for good reason. I had just been yelling and pointing in my sleep, something like “On your head! ON YOUR HEAD! You need to listen!” I then had to explained to Luke that Monkey was messing around with her sunglasses in my dream. The sad thing I found out in the morning is that I yelled a few other times that night too about other things.
Or there was that time when, while sleeping, I reached over found Luke’s right eye with my hand and then proceeded to poke him. Seriously.
Or how about the time that Luke woke up to me digging around under the bed. Yes, I was asleep and only vaguely remember it because I suddenly woke up and realized what I was doing and promptly got back into bed.
It is no wonder to me that I almost never feel rested after a night of sleep. I just don’t sleep all that restfully. However, it is a wonder to me that my wonderful husband can manage to sleep next to me. And sometimes sleep through my strange sleep behavior.
At least I haven’t tried to walk out of the house right?
