I must be feeling a tad stressed lately.
First of all I start writing my usual harmless blog post about raising a child in a foreign country, only to have it dissolve into a tear-fest about raising a cuckoo (wtf?).
Now I'm apparently sleep-walking too.
I woke up last night at about midnight, presumably because I heard the sprinklers go off. I remember knowing it was the sprinklers, but part of my sleeping brain must have thought it was raining or something bizarre because I marched downstairs to where LK was comfortably drifting off in front of the TV, and hands on hips I asked him whether or not he'd brought the stuff in yet.
"Wrigs you're dreaming" he replied, popping another peanut butter cup into his mouth and casually tossing away the wrapper.
Well that just made me even more upset. The indifference. The litter!
"So you haven't done anything, even after I told you..."
"Wrigs, you're dreaming, go back to bed. What stuff?"
And that's when it hit me. I couldn't think of the stuff. The stuff that had me marching angrily down there in the first place. I had been dreaming. Bugger. Retreat. Retreat.
I was thinking about this whilst at work this morning. Thinking that I'd been sleepwalking, which is fortunately fairly unusual for me, and also thinking that LK could have been a little nicer to me thank you very much. He didn't rush to my aid, worriedly saying 'you're dreaming love, here come back to bed and don't fret', he didn't even seem mildly amused. In fact he seemed quite irritated by my sleepwalking interrupting his telly-watching. Well ex-c-use me!
Then a little later it also occurred to me how it must have felt to him, to finally be getting a bit of peace and quiet from his household of women, only to be told off by an incomprehensible somnambulist for a complete load of bollocks. Nice! I'm even mean to him when I'm asleep. Subconsciously I know he did it, whatever it is, and really does it matter? He's to blame!
Funny story about sprinklers for all of you reading this who won't have to wait until November for the first sniff of rain; when my Mum and Dad first stayed with us in California they were convinced it rained for ten minutes at 2am on the dot every morning. No joke.