Sleepwalking

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When I was very young, I used to sleepwalk occasionally. My mother told me that she found me wandering up and down the hallway in our house, muttering something about “fifty cents for stamps.” (I was a stamp collector, and I used to buy stamps by mail-order, so I was probably wishing for some more money for that.)

I haven’t sleepwalked for decades, so far as I know.

Until recently.

I was watching a movie the other night, and when it ended – at a reasonable hour, maybe 10:30pm – I turned off the TV, and put my drinking glass in the kitchen, and –

I woke up in the wrong bedroom.

We keep a separate bedroom, because the apartment has two. I keep my books in there, and my clothes, and a daybed, because sometimes I nap in there during the day. Partner and I sleep together at night in the main bedroom.

But apparently I became confused, or something.

Partner woke me around 2am. “What are you doing in here?” he hissed. He’d gotten up to go to the bathroom, and was confused to find me in the wrong room.

“I don’t know,” I said groggily, still half-asleep. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

And I dragged myself into the right bedroom.

So I’m sleepwalking again.

Wonderful.

Look for me in your neighborhood soon.

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