Skip to main content

To Sleep, perchance to humiliate oneself in public...

I promise to post whatever it is I write here now at this moment. Damn it. I feel some serious weirdness coming on. This is an exercise, a fragment, work in progress or something that will be discarded. It's just this, and so, I offer my apologies. You've been warned. This is just silliness with grammatical errors, prattling, so much blahblahblah and etc.....

We sleep.

We do not sleep quietly.

We do sleep soundly.

Except when we don't, and then well, you know, we don't sleep quietly or soundly.

The sputter and snore of it, mumbled muttering, nonsense, “Monkeys on the roof, waffle umbrella-shark. Ahhhh...”

The inevitable passing of gas; sleep farting. God forbid.

My son laughs in his sleep.

This is a delightful thing. My son laughing in his sleep is a beautiful thing and it makes me feel hopeful.

My son is a dear darling boy so I imagine  that he dreams happy wholesome dreams, dreams about the things that delight children; puppies and butterflies, balloons, baby hippos, and farting.

When I was a child I didn't want people to see me with my eyes closed. I don't know what I thought would happen to me if I closed my eyes in public for longer than the time it takes to blink-- to blink, to prevent our eyes from drying out and dropping from our eye sockets, dessicated and shriveled, eye-raisins.

When I was a first year student at college, I was18, shy, depressed and far too serious for my own good. 

One warm October afternoon, I fell asleep in the university library. I awoke in a panic minutes or hours later, I had no idea which, and peeled my face off the sticky vinyl couch cushion with an audible 'rrrppppp'.

My cheek was hot and wet with sweat and drool and the shit brown Naugahyde upholstery wore a glossy sheen, a glinty spitty sheen which I'm sure I wiped away with the floppy cuff of my green and purple paisley blouse.

I straightened my Louise Brooks bob, readjusted my wire framed glasses, smoothed my vintage Girl Scout green pleated skirt, picked up my Sony Walkman and slung my black book bag over my shoulder with as much dignity as I could muster, which was probably a lot.

I avoided making eye contact with the assortment of grad students, undergrads, and pretty Tri Delts in their tight magenta sweatshirts and stiff big hair and I was gone.

Having drooled on myself and on the university's hideous plastic furniture was embarrassing, but the thing that made me sick to my stomach was the horrifying thought that I may have farted in my sleep.

I still don't like closing my eyes in public, it makes me feel vulnerable and from time to time I find myself worrying about falling to asleep in a room full of quiet strangers.






Comments

Carol Willette Bachofner said…
yes, the falling asleep in public thing is embarrassing. However, sometimes you just do. Movies are a good place for a snooze, followed by coffee shops, and of course church.

Funny blog post! Thnx
January 12, 2013 at 8:14 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Just don't call me Late to Dinner

A friend recently asked if I was ever called Maggie or if I'd always been a Margaret. That got me thinking about my name. I hate my name.  Hate it. I have never liked my name. It seems fine to call other people Margaret. It sounds agreeable enough when I say hello to another Margaret. "Hello, Margaret!" I might say. And the name doesn't offend me. It doesn't make me recoil or wretch. It's just a name. And a fine name at that. But it's not for me. I don't feel like a Margaret. It doesn't fit me well.  Hangs off me all funny and weird. Can't ever seem to wear it comfortably. I don't like to be called by name. Frankly, it makes me feel sort of sick.  When I was a chubby 3rd grader I decided I wanted to go by a nickname.   Peggy. I wrote it in my clumsy curly cursive on the front inside cover of my books.   I said it out loud to myself in the mirror. Peggy. Peggy! I liked it. First of all Peg
6 comments
Read more

Thinking about my son, jail, near death experiences, and hoping for the future

It's disconcerting when your 9 year old son asks if there are any jails in town that he could tour. My first thought, naturally enough, was that my son was planning a life of crime and wanted to see where he'd be spending 5-8 years of his life. But then I took comfort in the realization that my son is a dear darling boy who absolutely can not think past this moment. THIS moment. THIS MOMENT. He is the boy who tried to pick up fire, the boy who tried to put the knife in the toaster, the boy who ate his entire chocolate Advent calender in one sitting, never contemplating for a second what would happen next. The look of surprise and hurt after the touching fire thing was heart breaking. He was utterly disconsolate on December 2nd when he found he had no more candy and would have to watch his sister eat her stale misshapen chocolate stockings, stars, and bells, one each morning, for 24 days, in front of his very eyes. He was completely dumbfounded not not just a lit
3 comments
Read more

Inspired by Louise Gluck, a Poem about the Heavens

a poem by Louise Gluck  Under Taurus We were on the pier, you desiring that I see the Pleiades. I could see everything but what you wished.  Now I will follow. There is not a single cloud; the stars appear even the invisible sister. Show me where to look,  as though they will stay where they are. Instruct me in the dark.  Isn't that beautiful? That to me is just perfect.  Isn't that perfect? Everything just comes together. Perfect.  Of course, I feel inspired. Under Uranus... easy fishing, that. Low hanging fruit. But can you blame me? I know Uranus isn't a constellation, but it is a heavenly body, so I let it stand.  "Of course,  you 'll have to  know  exactly where to  look  for it. Barely visible by a keen naked eye on very dark, clear nights... Uranus  is...visible during the evening hours among the stars of Pisces, the Fishes."   https://www.space.com/22983-see-planet-uranus-night-sky.html
Post a Comment
Read more