I'm used to weird stuff happening at night, both actual and my-brain-making-stuff-up-tual. (It's almost 10 pm, which is late for me. I can't promise this post will be anywhere near coherent. In fact, I should probably wait and write this tomorrow, but I'm feeling gamble-some... or... something... and have decided that this needs to be posted TONIGHT.)
Anyway. Weird stuff at night. Right.
I grew up with a sister who would do things like sit straight up in bed in the middle of the night, glare at me and bellow, "WHERE'S MY SUNSCREEN?" before lying back down and going right back to sleep. (P.S. I didn't know where her sunscreen was. Still don't.)
Sunday night, I was washing up in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, when I heard Adelaide talking in her sleep. That in and of itself is not at all unusual; most nights she's yelling something or other in her angry voice: "Noooo, dooooon't, STOP IT!" I don't know what her dreamscape looks like, but it's either inhabited by scary monsters or people telling her that cookies don't exist. Either way, she's consistently angry about it.
Sunday, however, she decided to be a little more mysterious, and instead of the normal negativity issuing from her room, I heard, "JABAR-JABAR-JABAR-JABAR-JABAR..." before trailing off in a monologue even more incomprehensible than all the jabar-speak.
This all provided a lovely if unorthodox soundtrack for my teeth-brushing; the only problem was, my overly tired, slap-happy brain decided that this was simply the most hysterical thing it had ever heard, so I went into one of those silent, shaking laughter episodes we're all seized with now and again, which would have been fine except for the fact that I had a pointy plastic thing in my mouth and I somehow managed to stab myself in the throat a couple times, causing some painful gagging, which caused the foamy toothpaste to overflow out of my mouth. A glance in the mirror proved that I did, in fact, appear to be rabid. But happily so. I was rabidly happy. Which caused more laughter.
We have good times, me, myself, and I.
Derek capped off the night a few hours later with a little sleep talking himself. I was climbing back into bed for the umpteenth time after calming Atticus down, when Derek said in a perfectly clear, I'm-wide-awake voice, "Did Jeff give you all the markers?"
I answered, "No." Because he hadn't. And who's Jeff?
Right about here is where I'd supply a witty little conclusionary... concludatory... conclusion-ey... sentence that wraps this whole little story up with a pretty purple- and silver-striped bow, but I just can't. My brain slowly winds down when its tired, like one of those talking dolls who's batteries are dying, and we're just about at the point where the doll's voice is so slow that it's scary and masculine.
Good night. I hope everyone has lots of fun conversations with your loved ones while at least one of you is asleep. (Did you see that? I tried.)