Are you sleeping? Can you hear me? AAAAEEEEGGGGHHHHH!!!

Shhhhh.

No one tell the Governess, but for the second night in row, she has woken both her spouse and her dog with dreamy-time ramblings.

The first night was maundering syllables and noises. But last night, she added a solid sentence, “that’s very nice.” It fit her M.O. of being the angriest sleeper in the history of rapid eye movement, since it was muttered in a tone similar to one my father used when I would pull him over to the table with the white yappy back-flipping toy poodles outside Spencer Gifts at Fair Oaks Mall. That and her tightly furrowed brow and comically exaggerated nocturnal frown.



Now...

Before a revengeful post by the Governess is delivered upon my head ten-fold, it should be known that I have, perhaps once or twice, been known to verbally express myself unconsciously as well. According to pool reports filed the next morning, I’ve allegedly awoken from dreams still in the mood continue the conversations with whomever is closest; family, roommates, neighbors. And at times, I’ve gotten out of bed in an effort to find someone to talk to. While these stories are plausible, I have seen little proof or confirmation.

Noted instances:

• On several occasions, I’ve woken a partner, asked them confusing questions and fell back asleep before receiving an answer.
• On several occasions, I’ve woken a partner with hyena-like laughter.
• 15 summers ago, my parents awoke to find me attempting to mow the neighbor’s lawn while sleepwalking.
• 7 summers ago, I dreamed there was an alligator in my bedroom. Without actually waking, I took all the sheets and pillows off the bed wrapped up the “alligator” and threw them out the front door.
• 18 summers ago, during my first cicada invasion, mom and dad awoke around 3am to find me standing in their doorway. When my mom asked what was wrong, I dropped my jaw and shrieked for several seconds in a voice similar to our insect visitors/overlords. My terrified father yelled at me to go back to bed and I awoke with no memory of the incident.

In most of these incidents I don’t remember anything I’ve done. And if told to go back to bed, I comply. But it's at least better then my old roommate who suffered from night terrors and attacked several pieces of our crappy furniture and would rip his nightshirts off all Hulk Hogan style.

Sweet. Dreams.