My husband deserves a medal. Not just for putting up with me on a daily basis (which in itself is medal-worthy), but for daring to sleep in the same bed as me. That’s an undertaking for none but a brave man.
I sleep well, but lightly. Some little corner of my subconscious always has an ear open, and my entire body is ready to leap awake at the slightest provocation. This is a problem, because there are lots of slight provocations during the night.
Dreams, for example. Depending on their content, it’s entirely possible that I might kick, punch, scream, or laugh myself awake. The laughing dreams are the best – I dream of something so hilarious that I’m laughing my ass off in my dream, only to wake with a guffaw. The kicking and punching dreams are another matter. I haven’t made contact with Hubby yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
I’ve farted myself awake, too. There’s nothing worse than bolting up in bed in the middle of the night thinking, “Ohmigod, something just came out of my ass! Did I just shit the bed?” (BTW, I never have. Just sayin’.)
Back when I had cats, I frequently woke up already on my feet and halfway out the bedroom door, dashing toward a location pinpointed in my ever-alert brain by the sound of a cat horking up a hairball.
I wake at the slightest noise from our back alley, which is annoying because there’s a green space near us and people, especially teenagers coming back from parties in the wee hours, tend to walk and talk boisterously there. I’d swear those voices are coming from just beyond the foot of the bed.
But the most dangerous situation for Hubby is this: sometimes I snore. That puts him in the unenviable position of trying to rouse me enough to make me stop snoring without actually waking me. It’s a losing battle.
The other night I lurched up in bed with a yell, eyes wide and fists clenched. Hubby recoiled. “I just barely whispered your name,” he explained. “I only wanted you to stop snoring.”
Clutching my chest over my hammering heart, I snapped, “Well, it worked!”
But the rudest awakening I’ve ever had was years ago when I was living alone. I owned a little two-storey crackerbox of a house with no air conditioning. There was a giant poplar tree in the back yard, which was great because I could leave the second-floor bedroom window and curtains open at night to get a breeze without worrying about privacy.
I was blissfully asleep one night when a hellish racket and a glare of brilliant light rocketed me out of bed to find the police helicopter hovering with its spotlight trained on my back yard.
That was seriously disturbing because it meant they were looking for a criminal and s/he was too close to my house for comfort; but equally disturbing was the fact that they were looking in my bedroom window with a spotlight bright enough to reveal every detail of my birthday suit.
I think that was around the time I started keeping a set of clothes within reach of the bed…
What was your rudest awakening?