Even a badass, independent chick such as myself sometimes really needs a guy in her bed. Namely Mr. Sandman. He’s been avoiding me for the past few weeks and as soon as I find out which slut he’s cheating on me with, I will cut off his sandbags.
Sandy should know better than to test me because I’m always a dangerous individual, but even more so when I’m in an insomnia phase.
The Reign of Kat’s Insomnia Terror began when I was about twelve. (Yes Sandy and I have been in a dysfunctional relationship since I was twelve years old. He couldn’t even wait until I was a teenager. The fucking pig.)
It started when my parents couldn’t figure out why I was having difficulty staying awake during the day. The mystery was solved when my mother woke up in the middle of one night to find me trying to get out the back door. When she asked me what I was doing I replied by making some kind of unholy snarling and grumbling. My mother called a priest and after being assured that I wasn’t possessed, she concluded that I was just sleep walking.
My parents thought that a change of location might cure my nightly excursions so I went to live with my grandparents after this. The plan seemed to work until one night about a week after I’d moved in that my grandmother was startled from her sleep to a scream of, “Oh SHIT!” followed by the sound of someone shaking the huge antique writing desk. (FYI, this was during the brief period between my profane toddlerhood and adulthood when I was not prone to foul language, so my grandmother was pretty shocked by my outburst.)
The next night, my grandparents were still awake when I took my nightly jaunt. They were sitting at the dining room table when I joined them with a glazed look on my face.
“Are you okay, Kat?” my grandmother asked.
I continued to stare at the wall.
“You’re sleep walking, Kat. Why don’t you go back to bed?”
I answered my grandmother by picking up one of the many ashtrays overflowing with cigarette ash, taking a deep breath and spitting as hard as I could into it, causing an explosion of ash to cover my grandmother, my grandfather, and the dining room table.
After a third night of my roaming the house my grandmother took to booby-trapping the hallway to make sure that I didn’t make it to the backyard…because having me break a leg by tripping over some strategically placed chairs and puppy gates makes a lot more sense than letting me wander around. Luckily while I continued to sleep walk throughout secondary school, I at least never broke any part of my darling body.
Nowadays while Sandy and I still are often at odds, I don’t sleep walk anymore. No no, as was discovered during the time that I was living with my ex, my insomnia has taken an even more dangerous aspect.
One night while living with my ex, I was feeling particularly frustrated with my current phase of insomnia, so I poked him in the back as he slept.
“What? What do you want?” he demanded.
“I can’t sleep.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“Well…” I batted my eyelashes and twirled a lock of my long hair.
Ex rolled his eyes, “Forget it. I’m tired. You’ll eventually fall asleep.”
“No I won’t!” I pouted.
Actually I did, which is a fucking miracle since I was frustrated on two fronts at that point and this was back before I was aware that a pair of AA batteries could have helped with both issues.
Unfortunately, as often happens when I managed to doze off during an insomnia phase, I had a nightmare. In this dream a old man in a wife beater and boxers was kicking me. I wasn’t kicking his ass back because he was an old man and where the hell is the challenge in that, but I finally caught his leg in my dream and dug my claws into his calf.
“OW!” he screamed.
“I told you to stop kicking me!” I yelled at him, digging my nails deeper as he struggled to kick me again.
“OWWW!” he screamed again, “OWWWWW! STOP!”
At this point I woke up to discover that I had curled up against my ex–as I would often do to his annoyance since I am always cold when I sleep–and was digging my claws into him.
“Why did you do that?!” he screamed.
“I was dreaming! I’m sorry!” Unfortunately when you’re laughing your face off while apologizing, people tend to doubt your sincerity.
This is why when a girlfriend of mine was recently talking about how she has a “no sleep over rule” after she gets busy with a guy, because she doesn’t want them to get clingy, I told her that I have that rule, only it’s for their safety.
In closing you might have noticed a theme of when I tend to go through insomnia and as you can see, it always coincides with stress. And what with moving, packing, working crazy hours and putting a deadline on finishing my novel, I can’t imagine why I’d be having difficulty sleeping.*
*Only another week or so of Kat’s moving bullshit and then we’ll be back to regular bullshit. And post that’s aren’t quite so long–geez!