Walking into Mirrors...

I'm not sleeping too well these days. I lie awake in bed for hours at night, just to fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning and awake to find myself doing strange things like trying to walk through mirrors. As I explained to Katie, I was probably just trying to enter another dimension... Or, maybe it's just that I'm so good looking that I can't get enough of myself, even in my sleep...

Anyway, kidding aside, you all know from previous posts that I have some interesting sleep habits (disorders). In light of the strange sleep occurrences of the past couple weeks, I feel its appropriate to relay one of my favorite sleep stories.

Three years ago or so during Christmas break, my mom, dad, sister (Kate), my dog Junior, and I all piled into a car to head to Florida. Traveling with a young family is a normal event, but two empty-nesters driving two adult children plus a dog 1600 miles presents a comical situation in and of itself.

So, we left Madison in the evening and due to my father's need to "make good time," and chronic inability to stop and sleep when traveling (another genetic deficiency I unfortunately inherited), we arrived at our destination in Florida at around 2 in the morning.

Unfortunately all of the motels we checked had no vacancy, until finally we found one with a room at around 3am, but this one also had a giant "ABSOLUTELY NO PETS ALLOWED" sign in the front window of the office.

We decided to risk it and Dad went in to reserve a room. Upon entering our room, Dad let Junior (a dachshund, by the way) down to run. Just then a shady character exited the room adjacent and Junior went crazy barking.

Luckily, the office must not have heard the commotion, and we deftly scooped up Junior and headed into the room.

Exhausted all of us crashed and immediately fell into a comatose state -- Kate and Mum in one bed and Dad, Junior and I in the other.

I must pause and explain that I've learned that I tend to do crazy things in my sleep when:

1. I'm really sleep deprived
2. I'm in a foriegn place
-or-
3. I've been on the road for a long time

Now, this night all of these factors were at work and I awoke at 4 am with Junior barking wildly, me on my knees screaming at the top of my lungs holding my Dad's arms down above his head.

As I slowly come back to consciousness, I realize that my Dad, also asleep, is fighting back mightily and screaming himself.

Around this time, Kate wakes up to the commotion, sits straight up, and begins clapping her hands, screaming "STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

Then, as quickly as the commotion erupted, Dad stopped screaming and rolled over, Kate, Junior and I went back to sleep, Mum mumbled something incoherently, and it was once again silent.

What the occupants of the adjacent room must have thought, I can only imagine. I only know that if I had heard the screaming, the commotion, and the dog going crazy, I probably wouldn't have gotten a whole lot of sleep in the thought that a mass murder had probably occurred one door over...

Neither Dad nor I know who started the screaming, and how we didn't get kicked out of the motel that night I will never understand.

Back to the present, on Saturday Dad and I went twilight golfing at The Bridges. I had a great time, but for the first time in my life rented a cart instead of walking the course. After six holes I was rather tired and decided I had best put down the clubs and play Caddy for the remainder of the night.

On Sunday I felt like I had run a marathon. It's a good sign you're out of shape when you can hardly move after six holes of golf...

As we near the end of stage 5, I'm rather worn out, but I suppose that is to be expected after nearly 10 months of chemo.

I hope this early fall finds you all well.

Off to Bed...

Sam

Insomnia

Insomnia is an uninvited guest
who stays in your bedroom
and rattles your sanity.

It is the close cousin of the crazed man
who drives incessantly through the night
with the bright lights of a city bypass
flashing rapidly at his windshield.

Insomnia gives audience
to the orchestra of crickets
just outside the window,

To the lonely sound of car tires
whose solo drivers depart
on unknown cross-town missions,

And to the chorus of excitable dogs
whose barks pierce the still, dark
air of a late summer night.