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):
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.