|Happy holidays everybody!|
My nightlife has always been more adventurous than my day-life, in spite of the lack of a sweetheart. As a young nipper I was already suffering insomnia: usually I'd not fall asleep until way past midnight. But if I fall asleep, I fall asleep good, too. Nothing can wake me midnight kids setting off fireworks, the 1992 5.8 Richter earthquake and the 2002 chemical lab explosion at 15 minutes from my house, you name it; if something happens, I sleep right through. My poor alarm clock has to endure a lot of early morning violence.
Another set of sleeping trouble started somewhere in 2002. I'd arranged to go to a theme park. But that morning, I woke up wearing more clothes than what I went to bed with. Looking over at my closet, I saw how my clothes were taken out and laid down in front of it, the way I used to do whenever I was looking for something to wear.
I thought my dad had pulled a prank on me, but he claimed innocent. When it hit me that I'd been sleepwalking, it freaked me out so much I didn't go out to visit the theme park anymore.
Nocturnal adventures have happened since. There have been periods when it's been rampant, particularly back in the days when I still had a newspaper round. But then it may slumber again for years.
Let's see, what have I been up to? One morning I woke up and found something had been written on my leg. It looked like WASA. But that W might have been a UI and the last A might have been a T.
I've woken up standing in the middle of the room, busy putting on clothes, on occasion I even got as far as to the living room downstairs. I've woken up from the chill, only to find I'd opened my window, on at least three occasions. This freaked me out more than anything since, if you can open the window, you can jump out as well. One time I woke up from my own voice, after I'd been dreaming I was standing on a ship talking to someone. In reality I was standing on my bed, chatting to my Terry Bozzio-poster. Once I woke up in the middle of the room, with my bedsheets wrapped around me like a Roman senator toga. After watching "Spider Attacks Daddy" on Youtube, I dreamt there was one of those critters on my ceiling, that fell down, and I jumped out. Next morning I woke up sore all over. In the mirror I noticed a large deep scratch in my side: I'd fallen out of bed in real life and caught myself on the corner of the nightstand.
My most recent misadventure happened a few days ago. When I went to bed, my knees were in fine condition. Next morning there was a large gash in my right knee and blood on the wall and on the bedclothes. What happened? No idea. Perhaps I'm the Somnambule Supervillain, out to fight Batman every night. My nightlife is so exciting I'd better not be conscious when it happens.