Somnambulist

My family and old roommates can all testify that I am what is called an “active sleeper”. I frequently talk, kick, and walk (and occasionally clean) in my sleep. Sometimes I can remember my sleepwalking experiences – like when my parents woke to find me emptying my mother’s makeup drawer searching for a part of my ear, or when I started shouting gibberish at Marcie when we were rooming together freshman year. During these moments, I was conscious of what I was doing, but unable to do anything about it. Other times, I am completely oblivious to my actions. Travis will happily tell you about the night in the Oregon coast hotel when he saw me give CPR to my pillow, and Marcie will admit to locking me out of the dorm room when I went on a sleepwalking search for my tennis shoes; the morning after both of these events, I didn’t remember a thing.

Although it is inconvenient for everyone else, there is something comforting about having someone witness these events. That way, I could always be sure that someone would stop me should I wander into traffic or near the edge of a cliff.

Last night, I’m sure that I had one of those semi-conscious sleepwalks. I “saw” a spider the size of a rubber ball lowering itself from the ceiling directly onto my bed. I leapt up, stripped my bed of all the covers, tossed the pillows around the room, and dug under my bed looking for the spider. After a few minutes, it occurred to me that I was behaving irrationally but that I couldn’t stop myself (a sure indicator that I was sleepwalking). After some more searching, I reassembled the bed and went back to sleep.

As usual during these remembered sleepwalks, it felt like an out-of-body experience. My mind recognized what was going on, realized that it was irregular, but was unable to control my body’s actions. It’s a strange sensation to feel relief in your mind when your body stops acting independently. I wish that I had a roommate to make my body behave during these episodes.