Conversations with Sleeping People

I'm back, reporting to you from the top bunk of the room I share with three other women. Yeah. Things are getting real up in here. As my example of things getting real, I was going to complain in great detail about how I never sleep straight through the night anymore, as my roommates all wake up at least an hour earlier than I do every day (the particularly ambitious among them waking up a full FOUR HOURS before me, at four-thirty in the morning), but I was just afforded a much better opportunity to demonstrate "things getting real," completely by chance. You probably won't find it as amusing as I do, but whatever.

I present to you the conversation I just had with Madison, who has been peacefully sleeping on the top bunk opposite mine for at least two hours. She inexplicably stirred, opened her eyes, glared around the room, and wrinkled her brow in some form of half-asleep disdain, possibly (understandably) for my table lamp, which actually performs well beyond the call of duty and lights the entire room rather than just the immediately surrounding area. I happen to like this, as it's placed at the foot of my bed. (Top bunk sort of limits your options in terms of bedside table placement, and my "bedside table" is a bookshelf stacked on top of my desk. Yes, I do have to climb over my desk in order to hoist myself up onto the ladder to my bed. But I digress.) I have a feeling my roommates don't like my super-bright lamp as much as I do, especially when it's on as they're trying to sleep.

Anyway, Madison woke up, cast a bewildered and disparaging look around the room, then made eye contact with me. We then proceeded to have the following exchange.

Me: What's the matter?
Madison (long pause): Weird.
Me: ...
Madison (repositioning her blankets): Ouch.
Me: What's the matter?
Madison: What?
Me: You said "weird."
Madison: Yeah.

That was it. End of conversation.

And this, I think, is the most amusing part of things getting real. When you share a room with other people, the best part is probably the half-asleep (or fully asleep) conversations that just have a way of occurring. Sometimes they're variations on a theme; I'm fairly certain Madison and I have had several versions of the following exchange as I walk into the room when she's already asleep.

Madison: Hey, baby.
Me: Go back to sleep.
Madison: Okay.

And she always immediately just lies back down and goes to sleep. Oh, that I could wield that kind of power over the fully conscious. Creepy? Perhaps. Useful? Most definitely.

I can't say as I'm innocent of having ridiculous half-asleep conversations. I had this one with Michelle last night at approximately 2:47 am, at which point I had been asleep for roughly two hours.

Me: Two-forty-seven.
Michelle: Yeah, I just got home.
Me: Two-forty-seven.
Michelle: Yes, it's two-forty-seven.
Me: Hm. Hmmmm.
Michelle: ...
Me: Bathroom.

I then proceeded to walk to the bathroom, take care of business, and return to bed. Michelle has enjoyed telling this story to our roommates, casting me in the role of Crazy Sleep Talker, but I maintain that everything I said made perfect sense, so long as you were in my head. Because although I only said a few words, the inner monologue filling in the spaces went something like this:

"What? Someone just got home. What time is it? I can't see a damn thing without my glasses. I could just put them on, but they're all the way down at the foot of my bed. No, I can kind of see Madison's alarm clock from here. What does that say? If I really squint, it looks like two-forty-seven. Oh, okay. It definitely says two-forty-seven. Now, wait, why am I still awake? Hm. Well, Michelle coming in woke me up, but why haven't I fallen back asleep yet? Hmmmm. Oh. I need to use the bathroom. That's it. Okay."

See? It makes total sense.

And now I really need to get myself to sleep for real, as I am exhausted from a busy week, I have a busy weekend ahead of me, and it is almost 1:30 in the morning and I want to be up at 9:30. So I'm off to bed, but I will leave you with this quote from two drunk girls walking on Mass Row, aka the pedestrian street outside my window, for those of you not familiar with my lovely college campus. (And in case you non-Dartmouth folks were wondering: "Foco" = "Food Court.")

"WE'RE GOING TO FOCO! ARE YOU GUYS GOING TO FOCO?"
"You guys, I don't need to eat!!!"