Saturday, 28 May 2011

To Sleep: Perchance To Dream....

Ever since I was a kid I have talked in my sleep.
As I got older and had more worries (I suppose) I became a sleep-shouter and then a sleep-crier. Sometimes I wake myself up shouting; sometimes I have to be woken by Big Man because I am shouting. Or crying. And sometimes a combination of all three. I normally only do it when I haven't taken anything to knock me out (because of Big Man's horrendous, seismic snoring I am tranquillised almost every night otherwise I'd never get any sleep, broken or otherwise. Funny that, isn't it? He's the one with the problem but I'm the one who is medicated..)

It's rare for me to remember what has upset me so but that's not to say I don't ever remember dreams. Most are completely surreal, for example one a week or so ago when I dreamed that one of Red's ex-boyfriends ( let's call him Pigface for the sake of argument) arrived at my house dressed as Joey Ramone complete with sunglasses and black wig - Pigface is actually a gingery blonde who would like to be a Viking but is more Piltdown Man -  and begged Red to go out with him. She eventually, reluctantly agreed. At the same time thirty perfectly-formed but only knee-high teenage girls had called over to see Mr Charming. All very bizarre. I tell the rest of the family my dreams when I can remember them and always ask 'what do you think it means?'. I'll leave you to guess at the kind of answers I get.

There are no other sleep-talkers/shouters/criers in the family but that doesn't mean that there aren't others who, like me, are plagued with crazy dreams. Many years ago Babcia was dreaming that she was a racehorse in the Grand National. She ran faster and faster and managed to take the lead. Just as she approached the winning post another horse came up beside her and was about to go past. In her desparation to win at all costs and nobble her rival, she turned and bit the other horse savagely on the neck....only to be awoken by a cry of pain from my Dad. Whose upper arm she had sunk her teeth into. Poor Dad. Three days break from the toughest job in the world and he ends up as a snack for Nijinsky.

Babcia's never lived it down.


  1. Hello:
    This is, indeed, the stuff of which dreams are made. Forgive us if this is actually a paraphrase and not exact. But, we feel, it applies.

  2. My son used to talk in his sleep and it was quite spooky! Remedy for snoring husband - your own room!!!! Works every time - great night's sleep guaranteed! (Although a bit drastic, perhaps!)


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