Just in the past week I’ve found myself fumbling with the radio remote control, trying to stop a recording on my iPhone; and staring in horror at a Plexiglas panel filled with bugs that had somehow replaced my headboard.

I’ve taken drawers out of night tables, put my pillow on the roof, and scrabbled weirdly at my husband’s toes.

My son once walked his pillow to a rock next to the raging Colorado River, managed to find his way back to his cot next to us, and remembered none of it the following morning. On a trip to visit colleges, we awoke to find him fumbling at the motel room door. “What are you doing?” we asked.

“I have to go to college,” he replied, and went back to bed.

So I can sort of imagine what it was like to be Tobias Wong, who may have hung himself while sleepwalking. But I’ve always woken up, realized what I was doing didn’t make any sense, and gone back to sleep.

I wonder if he did too, in the moment before he died.

This entry was posted in Cultural stuff, Dreams, consciousness, and weird things like that, My so-called-life and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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