The Sleep Olympics

Mr. GG woke up screaming today. No, I do not look that bad in the mornings. I rolled over, ready to pat him, and say “there, there” and gently bring him into a state of wakefullness. However, it was not a bad dream. Furbutt tried to haul herself up the mattress on his side of the bed, and clawed his elbow by mistake. She forgot to check before she crawled into bed. She thinks his side of the bed is her side of the bed, and she hates it when he is occupying her bit of prime sleeping real estate. She loves to jump up, knead the down comforter enough to reveal those cozy flannel sheets, and settle in with her head on his pillow. This cracks me up, because I am generally already on my side of the bed when this happens. Mr. GG has pointed out many, many times, that I could discourage this behavior. But why would I? Once Furbutt settles down, arranges her tail and puts a paw over her nose, she starts purring up a storm. This creates the kind of white noise that sends me off to nappyland almost immediately. Not that sleeping is generally a problem for me. Au contraire. Sleeping is one of my best things.

When I was a teenager, my Catholic school was trying to make us conscientious citizens of the world, so some of us went to St. Louis to volunteer in the ghetto for a summer. The nuns put us up in an empty apartment in the ghetto, where somebody built bunk beds out of 2 x 4’s and plywood. After a hard day saving little black children, drinking koolaid and eating macaroni, we would retire to our apartment and listen to the noise of sirens, loud music and the cacophony of city sounds. Once my head hit that lumpy mattress, I was out like a light. One night somebody tried to break into our apartment of teenage middle class white girls, and I slept right through it. I also slept through the part where the nuns came in and nailed our windows shut. So the legend was born.

I slept through an earthquake in Illinois. In case you didn’t know, parts of Illinois lie across the New Madrid fault. I also slept through an earthquake in Idaho. Okay, so it wasn’t a big one, but it woke plenty of other people up. I sleep through fire trucks at the neighbors, severe thunderstorms, and sometimes the late night talk show radio programs Mr. GG listens to.

Put me in a vehicle on the passenger side, and within an hour or two, I am snoozing away. And I automatically fall asleep when we drive across Nebraska. Once we hit that state line, my self defense mechanism kicks in, and I sleep through the boring parts. And they’re all boring parts. Driving makes me sleepy, too. Mr. GG has a rule that when I yawn 10 times, I have to let him drive. Just thinking about that makes me yawn.

So far, I haven’t figured out any way to parlay this sleep thing into anything productive. Unless those Vancouver folk instituted a sleeping competition. If sleeping was an Olympic event, I’d go for the gold. I’m pretty sure I’d place, probably bronze. It wouldn’t make good TV viewing, though, so it probably wouldn’t attract a lot of prime time sponsors. Which is okay. Because I might, once in a blue moon, just sometimes, you understand, drool. So unattractive. I don’t want my 15 minutes of fame to be when Bob whats-his-name interviews me on the post-games program and shows clips of me drooling. Really don’t want to discuss it. Not gonna mention it in those athlete bio commercials leading up to the big games either. So, probably I won’t be doing a lot with this particular talent of mine, but that’s okay. I have lots of other skills, and I plan on exploiting them instead.

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