So as mentioned before, I am a sleepwalker. Or if you want to go into the terminology of things, I have a sleep disorder that is a mix between sleep walking, night terrors and nightmare disorder. Not a nice combination to have.
Why am I so blessed with this gift of sleepwalking? It’s genetic. I am basically screwed from both sides of my family. My grandmother on my mothers side used to walk, talk and ‘see things’ in her sleep, so did my mom. My father’s mother also ‘sees things’ in her sleep. My dad on the other hand has insomnia, so he struggles to sleep. So from a genetic point of view I am fucked. Sorry, and yes I am going to curse in my posts. Anyway, so I have been walking in my sleep for more than 13 years now.
Apparently when I was a baby I was like some or other demonic child who did not sleep. Ever. My mom used to say that if I slept more than an hour at night it was a miracle. Then when I was a little girl, I couldn’t sleep because I was scared the entire time (because of all the weird bad dreams I had), so I either slept with the light, and the bathroom light, and the hall light on, or I slept on a mattress in my parents room.
It was round about high school that I started to really walk around and do and also ‘see’ weird things. Note: I don’t really see things, I am sleeping. My brain makes me think that what I am dreaming is real. Which is a big problem, sometimes I can’t differentiate between dreaming and reality. I will wake up in the morning and I will be SURE AS HELL that my boyfriend phoned me during the night and that we had this long meaningful conversation, but, then when I look on my phone, no record of incoming calls. Boyfriend also has no knowledge of our meaningful conversation. Oops, must have dreamt it.
I feel like I have strayed from the topic of the demonic evil fried egg. Now when I was around 15 it was a normal thing in my house that I would jump up in the middle of the night, screaming my lungs out and running away from some or other ‘evil thing’. I used to wake my parents up, and sometimes they would feel sorry for me and come and comfort me until I calm down and go back to sleep. The night I am talking about was one of those evenings.
I don’t remember anything. I was sleeping and everything was black. Then all of a sudden out of no where this fried egg came flying towards me at a massive speed. But let me tell you, that was an evil fried egg. Damn. The yolk was its face. It had BIG scary eyes, and you could see the veins bulging in them. He also had very big and scary teeth, and he was on a mission to get me. Maybe I should draw a picture, because I can’t seem to translate that image in my head into words. It sounds so stupid. A big scary fried egg attacked me.
But, that is how it felt, and it was horrifying. So horrifying that I remember it vividly until this day. So half awake half sleep walking I jumped up screaming and realized I cant run away because the fried egg is coming right towards my bed, so I just stood on my bed, with my back against the wall screaming like a mad person (by the way, this story makes me look like a mad person) until my dad came bursting into my room. I was crying so hard that I could barely speak, so my dad just got words like ‘scary’, ‘omelette’ ‘flying’ ‘teeth’ ‘attacking’ between my sobs.
Also, another interesting thing here is that I did not know at that time in my life that that is how a fried egg looks like. I didn’t eat eggs at that time. I didn’t like the taste, and for some or other reason I felt horrible because I was taking the life of a baby chicken before it even had a chance to live. With me it works like this, if I do not like it, or do not have an interest in it (whatever it may be) I am usually uninformed and even misinformed when it comes to basic facts about whatever I am not interested in.
That is how it was with eggs. I did not eat them, so I never ordered them, I never made them, I never took any notice when my mom made my dad different types of eggs (scrambled, fried, boiled, omelette, poached). So in my head, that thing that attacked me in my sleep and scared the living daylights out of me was an omelette. That is also how I described it to my parents and friends. Last night an omelette attacked me and he (by the way it was a ‘he’) was so scary that I am scared that I am going to dream about him again. So I am going to stay awake for as long as possible for the next 2 weeks in order to try and avoid my evil egg friend.
That is also what I did. I was so scared of that damn omelette I couldn’t fall asleep for a week. I would lie in my bed for hours, trying to think about other things like birds or guitars until eventually I just passed out in the early morning hours due to exhaustion. Then, inevitably the next day I would be pooped because I did not sleep properly.
Bringing this story back to the present. I met a guy a while back. Ok, a long while back (we are still together for those of you who are wondering) and he loves eggs. So at the beginning of the relationship he just wanted to share his love of eating eggs with me, day and night. One day he asked me whether I wanted my egg fried or scrambled, I know what scrambled eggs are – at least I am not that stupid. Scrambled = messed up. So I sort of knew what it would entail. I just told him that he should make whatever he is making for himself (when you don’t have to make it yourself, you do not complain, and you are not picky, you are grateful). So after a few minutes in the kitchen he puts a plate on my lap with my worst enemy on it – the omelette. The evil eyed blood thirsty omelette that haunted my childhood dreams. So I was like, thank you for my omelette. And I saw the look on his face, you know, that WTF? look. So then he explained to me that it was a fried egg, and he also explained what an omelette looked like.
That day I felt soooooooooooooo sooooooooooo stupid (he thinks its because I confused an omelette with a fried egg – but its more than that. I managed to believe that for like 6 years). In approximately 6 years I never had the knowledge to figure out that it was a fried egg and not an omelette that attacked me that night.
I have a lot of respect for my father who stood there that evening, holding me while I was crying hysterically about an evil omelette that was out to get me. That can make a pretty good definition of parenthood. You know you are a good parent when you are holding your hysterical 15 year old daughter, and telling her that the bad omelette is gone and that she is safe and can go back to sleep.
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