I am a big time sleep talker. Blane says I rattle on all night long. I don’t worry too much that any big secrets will come out because first, I don’t have any, and if I did, 99% of the time my words don’t make sense. It doesn’t even sound like English because each word is a combo of the beginning of one word and the ending of another.
My very own sleep language.
It’s worse than that, though. I sleepwalk too. And sleep eat. I’ll wake up in the morning and find a candy wrapper and oh, no, I can’t even remember enjoying the damn thing. This is slightly embarrassing.
My latest sleep adventure was sleep writing. Oh yeah. My daughter, Sweetpea caught me sleepwalking and thought I was awake. She asked me to write her a note for school, something about not being able to make it in early for tutorials, whatever.
Here is the note:
First of all, SMS is the name of my other daughter’s middle school. Sweetpea goes to high school.
Second, none of those words make sense.
Third, and this is the scary part. My signature at the bottom of that note? Not my freaking name. Not even close.