dimentra dot com

I am a very light sleeper, my husband is a very deep sleeper.  This sucks for a million reasons, but mainly because I am the one who has to wake up to take care of the dog, the mysterious noise in the living room and to answer the occasional late night phone calls.  While he has visions of sugarplums, I am constantly battling the never-ending fight of sleeplessness.  The fuck.

Besides the fact that he is a deep sleeper, he has the following condition:

Rapid Eye Movement Behavior Disorder:

Patients with rapid eye movement behavior disorder (RBD) act out dramatic and/or violent dreams during rapid eye movement (REM) stage sleep.

This condition makes for many exciting nights in our bedroom.  Not the kind of exciting that you are thinking about, but the kind of exciting that gives me a damn heart attack every third night.  Here are some stories of his madness…  enjoy.

The Arrival of Scoobie

When we first adopted Doobie, he was a bit insane.  First, he was very young.  Second, he was a stray and had been through a lot in his short time on this planet.  He was moved from house to house, brought back to shelters 2 or 3 times before we finally adopted him.  In short, the dog was a mess.  Due to the fact that he lacked the security of two, loving, affectionate parents and a warm, safe home, he was a bit squirley.  He would jump up in the middle of the night, bark, shake, etc.  Because of this, we immediately had Doobie sleeping in the bed with us.  He would, and still does, curl up in the middle of us and fall soundly asleep.

On the second night, Craig jumps up and shakes me.  Startled, I ask, “What?  What’s the matter?!”

Craig motions for me to “Shhhhhhhh” and whispers in my ear, “Don’t move.  There is a little black girl in the bed with us.”

I laughed so hard, I almost pissed the bed.  Not only is he a racist, but a freak to boot!  Wow!

“Charlie”

Craig sleeps in his undies.  He wears tighty-whiteys and due to the fact that he is thin, and lacks what I would call a sweet ass, the back of his draws kind of hangs on his ass.  He has the ass of a white boy, there is no denying that.  However, he is still gorgeous and adorable and I have enough ass for the both of us.

With that being said, I wake up one night to find Craig hiding in the bedroom closet, wearing nothing but his tighties and a pair of black socks.  Not only is he hiding in there, but he is pressed up against the inside wall and every 3 seconds he peers around the wall.  I can see his huge eyeball staring at me in the dark, as if I am the enemy.

I say, “Craig.  What the FUCK are you doing?  Get out of the closet”

Craig, not saying anything, starts to breathe heavy.  I hear him actually start to whine.

“Craig,” I snap, “seriously WHAT THE FUCK?  Come to bed you FREAK!”

Craig, in the loudest and scariest voice I have ever heard come out of him, says, “LEAVE ME ALONE.  WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!”

I roll over and say, “Fine, Craig.  Sleep in the damn closet.  You headcase.”

Every Man for Himself

Not too long ago, at about 3am on a weeknight, Craig jumps out of his sleep and starts to scream at the top of his lungs:

“Baby, Doobie, let’s get out of here!  They are shooting from below!  Hurry. Get out of bed.  NOW. They will kill you both!  Let’s GO!”

Both myself and Doobie jump up, freaked out that something terrible has happened.  I realize that Craig is in mid RBD and I start to laugh.  I say, “Sweechie.  You are dreaming.  No one is shooting.  Come back to bed. It’s OK, I promise.”

He walks into the kitchen, turns to me and says, “Fine!  Every man for HIMSELF” and storms into the living room.

What Do You Want Me to DO?!

When Craig and I first met, we lived in a tiny, little 350 square foot studio apartment.  We slept on the floor on top of 10 blankets.  I had no job and he was paying the $600 per month rent.  We were broke, cramped, but insanely happy.  We had limited bills, which certainly added to that happiness.

Anyway, to the left of our pile of blankets on the floor was a rather large, square mirror that I had found in the garbage and had 3 friends help me drag into the apartment.  One night, as we were sleeping, Craig jumps up and runs over to the corner of the mirror.  He is making a strange “Swish, swish” noise, which sounds something like water to me.  He is kneeling on the balls of his feet, in a crouched position and rocking back and forth while proceeding to pull the blankets towards him, one at a time, in a very stealth-like movement.  After about 3 blankets are practically covering him, I decide that now is the time to ask him what he is doing.

He looks at me with dead fear in his eyes, stands up and screams:

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?????!!!!!!”

Being that this was my very first encounter with his strange disorder, I did not know how to react.  Was he awake?  Asleep?  His eyes were wide open.  I was petrified.  I just sort of slipped out of the blankets and went into the bathroom and locked the door.  I waited about 3 minutes and came back out to find him fast asleep on the blankets.

++++++++

There are so many of these stories.  Sometimes he looks so scared, that I actually feel bad for him, but only for a second because it is just TOO funny!  He will get up in the middle of the night and start punching the air.  He will grab his pillows and plop them on top of his head while screaming about falling bombs from the sky.  He will run across the house at top speeds and fall asleep on the couch, wake up in the morning and have no idea how he got there.  He will drag the blankets from the bed into the bathroom, take a piss and leave them on the bathroom floor and come back to bed.  He will punch me in the throat, elbow me to the head, kick me off the bed and scream in my ears.

There is never a dull moment, even when we are asleep!

After further investigation, I learned that other members of his family have the same disorder.  His younger brother does the same things.  He has locked himself in the laundry room and freaked out thinking he was stuck.  The commotion woke up their younger sister who was scared shit by the noise and thought that he was kidnapped, dragged into the basement and was being murdered.  She then proceeded to run into her Mother’s room, screaming and crying at 4AM while choking out what she thought was happening through her tears.  Can you imagine?  Their poor Mother.

His father also has the same issues.

What a bunch of WEIRDOS, eh?  🙂

**UPDATE**  Last night, at about 3AM… Craig jumps up, grabs his pillow and whacks me in the face with it, FULL FORCE.  He then proceeds to WHACK doobie in the face with it, FULL FORCE.  Doobie was like, “Fuck this.  This mother fucker is crazy I AM SO OUTTA HERE!”  He jumps off the bed and goes to sleep on the couch.  Smart fucken dog.  Craig is starting to get violent now…  before you know it, I will wake up and find my dog disemboweled and my throat cut open.  We have to get a divorce.

Originally posted on myspace.com – 11/13/2007

Current mood: exanimate

I got married and I lost myself.  That is the long and the short of it.  I managed to become the one thing I was so insanely afraid of becoming, then again, isn’t that always the way it works?

I give too much of myself and I never ask for much in return besides putting up with my insanity, mood swings, projection and the occasional word vomit, which I always wish I could take back.  When I realize that I am fighting a losing battle, I say too much, I think too much and more importantly, I dream too much.  Rather than just letting go, I allow it to consume me.  This is my downfall.

How does one recreate the groove worn in by constant play?  I have become that dusty crack in an old vinyl album that after many years of play has become warped, somehow.  I can sometimes see myself doing deplorable things, but can attain no means to stop the pattern.  I have become my Mother, I have become my Father.  Is it really so bad?  Is it actually the worst fate a person can imagine for themselves?  Or, am I just a victim of a very, very bad day?

As my head swims with nonsense, I begin to wonder if I have made a huge mistake.  Can I really expect someone to be who I want them to be?  Or, are my expectations just underlying prerequisites to what I consider a happy and successful relationship?  How can you even tell?

What I do know that every day I seem to be losing this battle.  I have lost someone I love to a manipulative person who has essentially beaten me at my own game.  He has become someone I do not understand, someone who cannot manage a conversation with substance and only gives what he feels is the very minimum to keep me around.  Maybe I am crazy, it would not be a first, but call it intuition – I just know something is amiss.

Karma at it’s very best. . .