This glass of murky water with a dirty paper towel in it is what I woke to on my nightstand this morning. Before I closed my eyes and went to sleep, it was a tall glass of crystal clear water. The only explanation is that I sleepwalked.
When I was a kid, I used to sleepwalk all of the time. My mother told me I always ended up sitting on a chair in the living room downstairs, which is really creepy. If Babyface did that I would fear she was channeling Linda Blair. That she’d be the documentary version of the next Exorcist flick.
Maybe this is my sleeping circle of life. Maybe it’s not my 4-year-old that’s tiring me out; it’s my mysterious nighttime activity. Maybe my obsession with zombie movies and TV shows is turning me into one.
This makes me wonder what I’m doing, when I’m roaming around the house. Why aren’t all of the chores getting done instead of me wiping dirt with a paper towel and dropping it into my water glass? Is it dirt? Or, is it old blood?
Did I walk downstairs, open the cabinet, gorge on chocolate, wipe my hands on the way back up and throw the paper towel in the glass? How horrible would it be not to know that you ate chocolate? And, pay the price in acne and pounds, but never enjoy the taste?
Why can’t I be a more efficient sleepwalker? Wake up to folded laundry, a gourmet breakfast, sore legs from running on the treadmill or floors clean enough to eat off? Maybe we should install a sleepwalking cam, Paranormal Activity-style and see what I’m up to in the dead of night.
My husband is a lump on a log when he sleeps. We could have a 9.0 earthquake and he would sleep through it, so he’s no help in solving the mystery of the dirty paper towel in my water glass. Dun, dun, dun, dunnnn…