Wake Me When It's Over
I've been having some odd encounters with sleepwalking lately. A by-product of aging, apparently. Most recently, I started dreaming that I had overheard someone outside the house trying to sneak inside, I responded by creeping to the door and making sure it was securely bolted.
That's when I woke up and found myself at the foot of the bed, trying to bolt down the controls on the bedroom TV.
And then there was the dream where I found myself beneath a towering metal derrick. A long cable on a pulley at the top of the tower suddenly snapped. The friction of the metal scrapping over the pulley began generating sparks. I realized that, if I didn't get out of the way, the heavy cable would fall straight on me. At the last minute, I rolled quickly to the left, avoiding certain doom.
And that's when I woke up to find myself on the floor next to the bed, clutching a broken alarm clock in my hand.
And, most dramatically, there was the night I dreamed I was in a James Bond flick, edging my way through a darkened factory when, suddenly, an assassin jumped out from behind a wall and prepared to strike. In a flash, I morphed from James Bond into Bruce Lee and executed a perfect, spinning, karate kick that sent the attacker sprawling.
And that's when I woke up to the sound of furniture crashing. Somehow, I had managed to kick over a wooden ladder propped against a nearby bunk bed. But this time, at least, I managed to stay beneath the covers.
I think I'm getting better at this but I'll understand if you have reservations about having me as an overnight guest.
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