Worse than Snoring

I have a sleep disorder. You probably didn't know that. Don't feel bad; it's not something I publicize. Brad didn't know either. Poor man. What an unfortunate, untimely thing to find out about someone who is already your wife. We had been folding laundry one night and I fell asleep on the couch. At about 2 am, after he had folded all the laundry (what a great guy), he gently shook me in attempt to move me to bed. It was such a nice thing to do that I don't blame him for being flabbergasted when I punched him in the nose, called him "Elliot" and screamed (at the top of my sleepy lungs), "I hate you!"

A few minutes later when I became fully conscious, he wasn't speaking to me.

"Are you mad at me?" I asked.

He glared at me incredulously and retorted, "Are you kidding me?"

It's a good thing I don't pack a mean punch. Especially since this is not the only incident of violence associated with sleepiness. I have apparently shoved tables over, kicked people and screamed loudly when someone kindly tries to wake me up. And violence isn't the only part of the story either. When I get tired I can fall asleep anywhere, I have vividly terrible dreams, and I require approximately 8-10 hours of sleep per day. Any less and I am cranky and mostly unconscious.

Aren't you glad you're not married to me?

I wouldn't be noting this here except that I have discovered something very sad: Grace has my sleep disorder. In addition to being able to fall asleep anywhere (see evidence below):

And requiring lots of sleep...

Last night she woke us up telling us that she had the most horrible dream about our alarm clock strangling her around the neck. Poor child. I didn't tell her that the dreams get worse.