Slept almost normaly last night. The last few weeks my sleep schedule has been completely whompsided -- either staying up entirely too late doing something, or going to bed on time only to lay there thinking about things I could be doing. Then either getting up for work and not having enough sleep, leading to massive caffiene intake to avoid QWERTY-face, or sleeping entirely too long and not feeling the least bit sleepy come beddybye.
So yesterday was one of those days that, as long as I was doing things, I was fine. As soon as I got in the car to make the long drive to Orlando for rehearsal, I was fighting to stay awake. I think I actually blinked out a time or two, which always scares me (I can only drive in my sleep for, oh, 5-8 feet. This is bad at 55 mph). So, I dragged myself through ensemble rehearsal and skipped chorus rehearsal (once again, I'm having a tough time getting enthused about the music, mostly because there is SO FREAKING MUCH OF IT YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING). Went home with the desire to fall face down in the pillow, but Hubby, being wise, got me doing things until bedtime.
Come bedtime I am so sleepy I cannot walk properly. I'm standing by the bed trying to undress and at some point I realize I'm falling. Luckily I fall into the bed, but parts of me are still on the floor and I don't know why. Husband is on the other side of the bed.
"What's wrong? Are you all right?"
I'm mentally checking out the whole falling thing. It seems I have one hand down near my ankles, but my ankles are not moving independently. I'm really confused. Am I crippled? Have I suffered a sleep-deprivation seizure?
It takes a few more seconds to make the discovery. I haven't sucessfully extracted my feet from my pants. I'm TRYING, but it's not WORKING.
"I'm stuck" I tell Husband in a mattress-love voice. The bed, it's soooo soft....
"What?" He has not, I should note, made any move to help me, despite my awkward stance and my obvious nuzzling of the blanket.
I hear laughter. Lots of it.
A few more seconds and I retrieve the memory that one must LIFT the feet to extract them from pants, shorts, underwear, bathingsuits and other such garments. I try this. It takes a few attempts to accomplish this complex manuever, but eventually I extract myself from my clothes and wobble to a semi-upright position.
Husband is red faced and almost bent over, laughing. At me. I'd take offense, but, really, I can't remember how. I shuffle to put my clothes in the hamper and as I shuffle back, he hugs me and tells me all those things he loves about me...mostly that I'm cute and I get stuck in my underwear in the cutest way.
Whatever, Mister. You're between me and the bbbbbbbeeeeeeeeeeeeddddddddddd.