Some people have unusual sleep patterns. Lack of sleep is widely acknowledged to be a scourge of modern society, and it is recommended that people should ideally get eight hours of sleep a day, yet most get barely six. For some, sleep can be a period of turmoil, usually due to some kind of worry or crisis in waking life, filtering through to the subconscious.
Consider the following examples:
Case 1 - ( As told to me by D ):
Not only does D’s boyfriend talk in his sleep, he occasionally wanders around the house, visiting the fridge etc. The following morning, he has no idea what happened. Obviously, for D, it’s very disruptive. As a result, she rarely gets a good night’s sleep, and more often than not, complains at work about being exhausted.
One night, she got her revenge. Her boyfriend awoke to the sound of trickling water. He couldn’t place it at first, then realised D was not in bed. Again, he heard the trickling noise, like there was a leak. He scrambled to put the light on, and found her, crouched by the end of the bed. She appeared to ignore him, even when he tried asking her what was going on.
He went closer, and saw that she was crouched like a feral wolf-child, peeing on the floor. Still ignoring him, she crept along on all fours, found a corner, and squatted again, peeing on the floor.
She did this two more times before climbing back to bed.
He couldn’t be bothered to mop up the puddles. Instead, he made her clean it up the following morning.
Case 2 - I recounted the above story to Kev. He said his girlfriend is always talking in her sleep.
This is a typical example:
Girlfriend: WHAT’S THE FUCKING POINT?!
Kev ( suddenly awakened from sleep, having a minor heart attack in the process ): What?! What’s the matter?!
Girlfriend: What’s the point of picking it up and putting it down again?
Kev: Uh? Do what?
Girlfriend: I said, it’s pointless, picking it up to put it down again. And that bloody CIGARETTE man!
Kev: What ‘cigarette man’ - ?
Girlfriend: Shall we fly away?
Kev: - Wha - ?
Girlfriend: FOCK OFF!
- and then, apparently, she goes -
‘I’m pouring curry on you..! - I’M POURING CURRY ON YOUUUUUUUU - !’
‘My god, man,’ I said, ‘Even in her sleep, your woman’s got an attitude on her.’
‘I know. One day I’ll wake up and find her hands around my neck.’
Kev paused, a pensive look on his face. ‘You know what, though? I don’t think I’d like it if I found my girlfriend pissing on the floor. I think I’d be furious. I’d go, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
I said, ‘You’d have to be careful, though, if you startled her. Apparently it’s dangerous if you try to wake someone up while in they’re in a trance-like state.’
‘God yeah, it’d be like…’
Kev acts out his version of such an event - one that entails a large amount of somnambulistic bowel activity, complete with explicit sound effects - and his subsequent horrified reaction.
He pauses, mulling over the ramifications, shaking his head solemnly.
‘Yeah, man…if your girlfriend shat on your face…that’s out of order.’
Thursday 30 December 2010
Sunday 26 December 2010
Update: Unattainable Love Interest #1
Text Messages; Inbox; Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 23:18:21
Hi, it has been ages since ive heard from. I'm a bit concerned. i hope all is well. I'm beginning to believe you must have a new lover, and you've gone all googly eyed. Lol. Plus, u must b at it like rabbits as u have a very high sex drive. Get in touch. x
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 23:50:38
Yes i will come and c u, as long as you don't come on to me. Lol. x
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 00:01:28
Shut up you miserable old man. I'm trying 2 sleep. If it's any concilation i'm sleeping all on my own tonight. Plus i'm wearing a very very short slinky see through slip. I'm feeling very hot tonight. Want to join me? X
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 00:11:12
Hey where have u gone? Was my last message 2 much 4 u. Did u need 2 make the trip to the bathroom? Lol x
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 00:48:27
Filth, i can't believe you've just admitted that. No i don't respect u 4 admitting that. Wash your mouth out. Sp soon x
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 15:32:31
The reason i'm telling u this because i thought you'd like 2 know that i'm back on the market. Not that i'm looking, so don't get your hopes up. Lol.
Hi, it has been ages since ive heard from. I'm a bit concerned. i hope all is well. I'm beginning to believe you must have a new lover, and you've gone all googly eyed. Lol. Plus, u must b at it like rabbits as u have a very high sex drive. Get in touch. x
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 23:50:38
Yes i will come and c u, as long as you don't come on to me. Lol. x
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 00:01:28
Shut up you miserable old man. I'm trying 2 sleep. If it's any concilation i'm sleeping all on my own tonight. Plus i'm wearing a very very short slinky see through slip. I'm feeling very hot tonight. Want to join me? X
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 00:11:12
Hey where have u gone? Was my last message 2 much 4 u. Did u need 2 make the trip to the bathroom? Lol x
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 00:48:27
Filth, i can't believe you've just admitted that. No i don't respect u 4 admitting that. Wash your mouth out. Sp soon x
Text Messages > Inbox > Unattainable Love Interest #1 / 15:32:31
The reason i'm telling u this because i thought you'd like 2 know that i'm back on the market. Not that i'm looking, so don't get your hopes up. Lol.
Babysitting
My brother and his wife left the house twenty-three seconds ago. Yes, seconds. Because I hear the front door slam as I'm taking a piss.
Then I hear someone try the bathroom door. To me, that is the most off-putting thing to happen if you're trying to perform a bodily function. When I'm out in public, I will spend extra minutes finding a completely empty restroom, so I can focus. Now there is a knock.
- Just a minute.
- Uncle Lex..?
- Yeah, just a sec.
I finish up in the bathroom, and open the door.
It's Theo, the six-year-old. He's holding out his chunky forearm. On it, is a raised, angry-looking scratch, several inches long.
- The puppy did it, Uncle Lex.
He looks embarrassed, because we keep telling him the dog is not an action-figure, and he has to stop hassling it.
Great, I'm thinking. Shall I just call my brother back? He's probably only just got into his car. All I can think of is to wash the wound, but it seems too simple. My brother probably has a whole procedure in place. They're like that, parents. A hotline, even, to a specialist unit, in case anything happens.
- Let's just wash it under the tap, and get it clean.
- Okay.
We wash it, making sure the water is hot, but not too hot. We dry his arm with a stiff towel. It still looks pretty bad for a scratch. I'm starting to think, blood poisoning, septicaemia.
I'm giving him twenty minutes to live.
Then, for the rest of my life, I'm gonna be one of those babysitting relatives who let a kid croak on his watch.
He rubs it with his other palm.
-It itches Lex.
I point out that he has been stroking the dog with that hand, and we will need to wash the wound again. He slaps his forehead and exclaims -Doh! - Homer-style.
After we have repeated the procedure, I ask where the plasters are. He knows straight away, they're right by the pile of fresh laundry, next to us. I delve into the box, and retrieve a long plaster that will just about cover the entire length of the scratch.
- This will teach you not to harass that dog. It's not a toy, you know.
With the over-size plaster, it now looks like the kid has been in some kind of knife-fight, or a child vs. rottweiler incident. Or maybe they're doing Trainspotting for the Christmas play.
I start thinking: I don't want my brother to suspect that I can't even look after his kids for a couple of minutes - let alone a couple of hours. He pays me in curries, so I can't afford to lose this gig.
What we need is a story. One that Theo needs to be able to recite, so we're consistent.
- What shall we tell your dad?
It needs to be something that sounds good. I'd just seen the first Narnia film, so right there and then, I'm inspired.
- Why don't we say we went for a walk, and you were attacked by a lion?
Theo nods. But not quite enthusiastically enough for my liking.
- Or maybe you were walking in the woods, and were savaged by some kind of ferocious beast?
He purses his lips and looks up at the bathroom ceiling. He usually does this when either coming up with a humdinger of an idea, or being completely bewildered - usually the latter.
Meanwhile, my imagination is getting the better of me.
- Maybe you fought it, and ripped it's leg off? Hence the scratch?
A pause. Then he goes -
- I think we'll just tell the truth, Uncle Lex.
- Really? - Damn, I'm kind of disappointed.
-Yeah. We'll say it was a wolf.
Then I hear someone try the bathroom door. To me, that is the most off-putting thing to happen if you're trying to perform a bodily function. When I'm out in public, I will spend extra minutes finding a completely empty restroom, so I can focus. Now there is a knock.
- Just a minute.
- Uncle Lex..?
- Yeah, just a sec.
I finish up in the bathroom, and open the door.
It's Theo, the six-year-old. He's holding out his chunky forearm. On it, is a raised, angry-looking scratch, several inches long.
- The puppy did it, Uncle Lex.
He looks embarrassed, because we keep telling him the dog is not an action-figure, and he has to stop hassling it.
Great, I'm thinking. Shall I just call my brother back? He's probably only just got into his car. All I can think of is to wash the wound, but it seems too simple. My brother probably has a whole procedure in place. They're like that, parents. A hotline, even, to a specialist unit, in case anything happens.
- Let's just wash it under the tap, and get it clean.
- Okay.
We wash it, making sure the water is hot, but not too hot. We dry his arm with a stiff towel. It still looks pretty bad for a scratch. I'm starting to think, blood poisoning, septicaemia.
I'm giving him twenty minutes to live.
Then, for the rest of my life, I'm gonna be one of those babysitting relatives who let a kid croak on his watch.
He rubs it with his other palm.
-It itches Lex.
I point out that he has been stroking the dog with that hand, and we will need to wash the wound again. He slaps his forehead and exclaims -Doh! - Homer-style.
After we have repeated the procedure, I ask where the plasters are. He knows straight away, they're right by the pile of fresh laundry, next to us. I delve into the box, and retrieve a long plaster that will just about cover the entire length of the scratch.
- This will teach you not to harass that dog. It's not a toy, you know.
With the over-size plaster, it now looks like the kid has been in some kind of knife-fight, or a child vs. rottweiler incident. Or maybe they're doing Trainspotting for the Christmas play.
I start thinking: I don't want my brother to suspect that I can't even look after his kids for a couple of minutes - let alone a couple of hours. He pays me in curries, so I can't afford to lose this gig.
What we need is a story. One that Theo needs to be able to recite, so we're consistent.
- What shall we tell your dad?
It needs to be something that sounds good. I'd just seen the first Narnia film, so right there and then, I'm inspired.
- Why don't we say we went for a walk, and you were attacked by a lion?
Theo nods. But not quite enthusiastically enough for my liking.
- Or maybe you were walking in the woods, and were savaged by some kind of ferocious beast?
He purses his lips and looks up at the bathroom ceiling. He usually does this when either coming up with a humdinger of an idea, or being completely bewildered - usually the latter.
Meanwhile, my imagination is getting the better of me.
- Maybe you fought it, and ripped it's leg off? Hence the scratch?
A pause. Then he goes -
- I think we'll just tell the truth, Uncle Lex.
- Really? - Damn, I'm kind of disappointed.
-Yeah. We'll say it was a wolf.
Saturday 25 December 2010
1 a.m, Christmas Eve, 2010.
I'm watching my DVD of The Seven Year Itch, and enjoying it immensely. But unfortunately I'm getting tired and I have to be up early...
Mobile rings. At this hour, we must surely be talking car accidents, fatalities, Biblical floods...
It keeps ringing. I scramble to find it.
Eerily, its stupid tune seems to be coming from all directions. Eventually, I locate it: My trouser pocket. I don't recognize the number.
Or - I should say - my phone doesn't.
- Hello?!!
-Hello?
It's a female voice. Bad static prevents me from placing it...
- Who's this?!
-Karen.
-Karen?
Mind races. Ah, got it.
- I've just had the worst birthday in my entire life, she says.
- Oh my God - why?! What's happened?!
- Simon's left me.
- Who?
- My boyfriend.
- Er, remind me, who is he again?
I haven't spoken to her for six months...
- He's my boyfriend.
- You mean the guy in that band?
- Karmic Travelodge? Yeah. We got back together in April.
- Okay...
- It was my birthday, and he just walked out.
- What do you mean? - When?
- About an hour ago. He said he was going to walk home.
- Walk home? In this weather? It's minus ten tonight.
- And he lives forty miles away. I'm so angry. It was supposed to be the best day of my life.
- Hmm, okay...
- I had to call the police. I had the police in my living room. They were lovely, though.
- Have they found him?
- I haven't heard anything. I work with the police a lot - I really don't want to bother them.
( Karen is the Nuclear Attack Emergency Co-ordinator for the South East ).
- Okay.
- I just wanted to be treated like a princess. It's supposed to be the greatest day of my life.
- Yeah. Okay. So you had a bust-up and he left?
- Yeah. I'm so angry.
- Have you had many bust-ups since you got back together?
- No, none at all. Well, maybe a little one. But that was it.
- Now, wait. Remind me: Isn't this guy bi-polar?
- ...No.
- But didn't you tell me he had a condition?
- No.
- Okay, so he just walked out? I mean, was he dressed safely for the weather?
The phone sporadically crackles with static, and this time, her voice drops out altogether and I only hear -
- shirt.
- Shirt. Okay.
- I just wanted to be treated like a princess. He told me he was tired and he went upstairs for a nap. And when I went up, I couldn't wake him. So I pulled the duvet off him.
- ...He wouldn't wake up...Is he on some kind of medication?
- No.
I'm really starting to get confused now. So I ask -
- Are you?
- On medication? No, not at all.
Her breathing changes. I'm sensing that what I'm suggesting about either her, or her boyfriend, is not being received well.
- Karen, I haven't spoken to you for six months. I'm just trying to work out what's going on.
- I'm so angry with him. Is that bad?
- Not necessarily. He's walked out in arctic weather. You're right to be angry that he's going to keep you up all night, worrying.
- ...I just wanted to be treated like a princess...
- Yeah.
-It's supposed to be the best day of my life.
- Did you both have a lot to drink?
- No, we hardly had anything. He just walked out.
- Are you sure he doesn't have some kind of condition?
- No.
- You know, that prevents him from doing something? Holding down a job, or whatever?
- No.
- Karen, where did I get that from then? Why would I make that up?
- I don't know.
I'm starting to feel a sense of dislocation. Like someone has pulled a rug out from under me. Am I going nuts? Where did I get that from?
- Christ, Karen. Maybe I dreamt that? Oh my God, it's late. Maybe I'm asleep right now. Karen, am I dreaming this conversation?
- Haha, like Inception? Have you seen that?
- No I haven't. I want to, it's been on my Amazon wish-list for ages.
- It's a great film.
- I heard. Don't tell me the end.
- No, I won't. But you should see it. You'd love it.
- Yeah. I know.
-I'm so angry, though. I just wanted to be treated -
- Like a princess.
- Is that wrong?
- Well, no about being worried. About being a princess...
- Have I gone too far?
- Karen, be honest. Are you high maintenance?
- No, not at all. I'm a nice girl.
- Yeah. I know you are. I'm just trying to figure out why he did it.
- I couldn't wake him up. So I pulled the duvet off him, and he walked out and I called the police. Because he lives forty miles away, and can't drive.
- ? He can't drive?
- He's not allowed to. He's an epileptic.
Mobile rings. At this hour, we must surely be talking car accidents, fatalities, Biblical floods...
It keeps ringing. I scramble to find it.
Eerily, its stupid tune seems to be coming from all directions. Eventually, I locate it: My trouser pocket. I don't recognize the number.
Or - I should say - my phone doesn't.
- Hello?!!
-Hello?
It's a female voice. Bad static prevents me from placing it...
- Who's this?!
-Karen.
-Karen?
Mind races. Ah, got it.
- I've just had the worst birthday in my entire life, she says.
- Oh my God - why?! What's happened?!
- Simon's left me.
- Who?
- My boyfriend.
- Er, remind me, who is he again?
I haven't spoken to her for six months...
- He's my boyfriend.
- You mean the guy in that band?
- Karmic Travelodge? Yeah. We got back together in April.
- Okay...
- It was my birthday, and he just walked out.
- What do you mean? - When?
- About an hour ago. He said he was going to walk home.
- Walk home? In this weather? It's minus ten tonight.
- And he lives forty miles away. I'm so angry. It was supposed to be the best day of my life.
- Hmm, okay...
- I had to call the police. I had the police in my living room. They were lovely, though.
- Have they found him?
- I haven't heard anything. I work with the police a lot - I really don't want to bother them.
( Karen is the Nuclear Attack Emergency Co-ordinator for the South East ).
- Okay.
- I just wanted to be treated like a princess. It's supposed to be the greatest day of my life.
- Yeah. Okay. So you had a bust-up and he left?
- Yeah. I'm so angry.
- Have you had many bust-ups since you got back together?
- No, none at all. Well, maybe a little one. But that was it.
- Now, wait. Remind me: Isn't this guy bi-polar?
- ...No.
- But didn't you tell me he had a condition?
- No.
- Okay, so he just walked out? I mean, was he dressed safely for the weather?
The phone sporadically crackles with static, and this time, her voice drops out altogether and I only hear -
- shirt.
- Shirt. Okay.
- I just wanted to be treated like a princess. He told me he was tired and he went upstairs for a nap. And when I went up, I couldn't wake him. So I pulled the duvet off him.
- ...He wouldn't wake up...Is he on some kind of medication?
- No.
I'm really starting to get confused now. So I ask -
- Are you?
- On medication? No, not at all.
Her breathing changes. I'm sensing that what I'm suggesting about either her, or her boyfriend, is not being received well.
- Karen, I haven't spoken to you for six months. I'm just trying to work out what's going on.
- I'm so angry with him. Is that bad?
- Not necessarily. He's walked out in arctic weather. You're right to be angry that he's going to keep you up all night, worrying.
- ...I just wanted to be treated like a princess...
- Yeah.
-It's supposed to be the best day of my life.
- Did you both have a lot to drink?
- No, we hardly had anything. He just walked out.
- Are you sure he doesn't have some kind of condition?
- No.
- You know, that prevents him from doing something? Holding down a job, or whatever?
- No.
- Karen, where did I get that from then? Why would I make that up?
- I don't know.
I'm starting to feel a sense of dislocation. Like someone has pulled a rug out from under me. Am I going nuts? Where did I get that from?
- Christ, Karen. Maybe I dreamt that? Oh my God, it's late. Maybe I'm asleep right now. Karen, am I dreaming this conversation?
- Haha, like Inception? Have you seen that?
- No I haven't. I want to, it's been on my Amazon wish-list for ages.
- It's a great film.
- I heard. Don't tell me the end.
- No, I won't. But you should see it. You'd love it.
- Yeah. I know.
-I'm so angry, though. I just wanted to be treated -
- Like a princess.
- Is that wrong?
- Well, no about being worried. About being a princess...
- Have I gone too far?
- Karen, be honest. Are you high maintenance?
- No, not at all. I'm a nice girl.
- Yeah. I know you are. I'm just trying to figure out why he did it.
- I couldn't wake him up. So I pulled the duvet off him, and he walked out and I called the police. Because he lives forty miles away, and can't drive.
- ? He can't drive?
- He's not allowed to. He's an epileptic.
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