One of the most self-revealing aspects of going to SXSW and hanging out with Joy was learning about the way that I sleep. When Zack and I first got married, sleep was an issue. Zack is a notoriously light sleeper. He’s the kind of person who wakes up at the slightest sound or motion. In contrast, I am the kind of person who routinely sleeps through thunderstorms, people trying to invade our house, and/or any amount of tossing and turning that my bed-sharing parter or I can produce. Also, I am a cuddler who is magnetically attracted to heat. If there is another source of heat with me under the covers, I will find it, and I will cling to it.
At first, this was a real issue for us. For months I would wake up every morning, roll over with starry love in my eyes, and ask Zack how he slept. And Zack would say, “uuugggh.” I would ask, “what did I do this time?” And he would tell me any number of stories about how I rolled on top of him 3, 6, or 45,000 times during the night. He would explain that while I was having a dream, I sat straight up in bed and declared my profoundest apologies to the people of Spain. He would say that I may or may not have punched him in the face. WHOOPS. And I would say how I was sorry about my rolling, declaring, and/or punching. And he would laugh about it through clenched teeth.
Sometime during our two years of bed sharing, though, we got a handle on the sleeping situation. We formed little sleeping routines, which in turn have helped me relax before I fall asleep. I stopped having nightmares during which I was in charge of an entire nation of people I didn’t know how to manage, and we quit punching each other*. (*I say “each other” here for a reason–there was a time once when he punched me in the nose when he was sleeping. But when he punched me in the nose, he didn’t do it with his fist like when I punched him. He straight up head-butted me. So, tit for tat, mister. Tit for tat.) I was under the impression that I had become one of those ideal sleepers; I thought I was a rock-solid, doesn’t-move, doesn’t-wake-up, doesn’t-get-in-your-way bedmate.
So the first night I spent sleeping in the same bed as Joy, I felt no need to warn her about my previous sleeping condition. I mean, it’s not like those feeling months of being a bad bed-sharer are on my permanent record, now are they? I didn’t even think about it. It’s been over a year since Zack and I have had any incidents. (I’m not counting the flukes, e.g. the occasional nightmare where he dies and I wake up weeping, and he has to convince me that he is, in fact, still alive. Not only alive, but alive, well, and very tired, and could I please realize that so he could go back to bed?) And the first morning, I woke up, asked Joy how she slept, and she mentioned that I may or may not sleep like something akin to a pinwheel under the covers.
CRAP.
I called Zack and said, “ZACK! I thought I was better! I thought I stopped moving! I thought we fixed me!” As it turns out, there are some things in a marriage that you can fix. One can give into the other’s wishes about how the toilet paper is supposed to face. Two people can come to a compromise about the dog being on the furniture by designating a doggie blanket. But there are also other things, things that can’t be fixed. Apparently, my pinwheeling nature is something that Zack has just learned to live with. And long ago, when he stopped mentioning that I had performed an entire karate routine in my sleep during the night, it wasn’t because I stopped. It was just because he decided to stop telling me about it. I think this means it has to go on my permanent record.
