But last night was the first time I've ever tried to kill myself in my sleep.
I don't know what led up to it. I don't know if I was having a nightmare, or just a really active dream, or I just happened to toss myself over onto my right side in the middle of the night for no apparent reason.
But dude. Our bed is pushed up against a concrete wall with a big window, concrete windowsill about 5 inches above my head.
When I flung myself in that direction at some unknown point last night, I smacked the top of my right ear, and a good portion of my skull above my ear, on the concrete corner of the windowsill.
When I woke up this morning, I didn't even remember it happening.
("Thank God! It was all a dream.")
And then I pushed my hair behind my ears, and felt the tender mass of bruised flesh that is my right ear.
("OR WAS IT??!!")
It all came back then, the flinging, the moaning, the trying to wake Neal up for some sympathy. He was having none of it. Not that I blame him. I'm sure I sounded like a babbling moron.
"Honey, wake up! I tossed myself across the bed and hit my ear and it really, really hurts!"
Wanna hear about the funniest thing I ever did in my sleep? Okay!
When I was a freshman in college, I dated this guy. Let's call him... Psycho. He was a big, sizzling serving of jerky jerk with a side of asshole. He was also one of those people who woke up no later than nine in the morning, no matter how late he stayed up the night before.
I am not one of those people.
So Psycho couldn't just let me sleep. No, even if I didn't have class until after noon, he would try to wake me up, and persistently NOT leave me alone until I was some semblance of "awake." Because I couldn't truly be awake at that hour after a night at the Smiling Skull Saloon.
I tried everything to get him to leave me alone, from lashing out to asking nicely to everything. Finally, something worked. He would back off, if I cursed and swore at him. Psycho would only let me sleep in peace if I was meaner to him than I ever would be to anyone else in any given situation outside of that one.
Hey, if it works.
So I developed an extensive, early morning vocabulary that would make a truck driver sprint for the nearest confession booth.
Fast forward to sophomore year. After horrible drama that resulted in him getting booted out of college, Psycho and I are over. I have a new boyfriend, a sweet kid who lives across the hall. We'll call him Cookie.
Cookie was nice and kind and gentle and great. I took to shacking up in his loft on a regular basis. All was well.
Until one mornong.
When I wake up, Cookie is asleep on the couch. I start murmuring nice morning words to ease him awake, but he won't have it. He's pissed.
Me: "What's wrong?"
Cookie: "What do you mean, what's wrong? You know what the hell is wrong."
Me: "I really don't. What's up?"
Cookie: "Whatever. Don't give me that."
Me: "Honest."
Cookie: "You really don't know?"
Me: "No."
So he told me.
Cookie had waken up in the middle of the night and gone to the bathroom. His loft was a shaky structure, and getting in and out was always a little tricky. (Moreso after a few beers.) He jostled me awake climbing down, and then jostled me awake again while settling back in beside me.
(When telling the story, this is the part where I always start laughing.)
When he woke me the second time, Asleep Me had a flashback to crabbier times. Cookie's sweet girlfriend slowly turned to him, narrowed her eyes, and growled,
"If you wake me up one more god damn time, I'm going to fucking kill you."
Neal got off easy last night, huh?
