Do What Bloomberg Says or Die

If you asked me prior to this particular freak out what the Bloomberg Report was, I would not entirely know. I would assume it was business-y show-maybe a Situation Room, The O’Reilly Factor or a yearly State of the city of New York address.

I now know that it is a “major global provider of 24-hour financial news and information including real-time and historic price data, financial data, trading news and analyst coverage, as well as general news and sport”.

How do I know this? Well, I looked it up but also because on a dark and cloudy night in January, the ticker on the bottom of the television screen of Bloomberg was the sole deciding factor of whether I lived or died.

If I did what the ticker said, I would live. If I didn’t…certain doom. The problem was I had no idea how to read the information being given to me on the scrolling ticker. I stood bent over with my face pressed against the screen waiting for my clear instructions.

Fear gripped me as I tried to decipher what the numbers representing the Dow, Nasdaq and S&P could possibly mean and how I would apply them to my current situation. My heart was beating inside my chest and my thoughts went to my kids who were going to lose their mother because Mr. Imming, my tight pant wearing, hands crisscrossed in back pocket sporting, chalk throwing, a little too into the 1st grade boys acting-8th grade teacher put me in the dumb math group while the smart math group were taught how to read stocks. Freaking Mr. Imming.

I woke up. Standing so close to the TV that the static had caught all the hair framing my face, less scared and more pissed. Becoming increasingly mortified as I returned to consciousness that I just spent my sleeping hours waiting on Bloomberg and cursing a pedifile from my past.

I Thought I Was in Bed with the Taliban

September 11th was scary.  You’d have to agree that life after that day, especially in the first year, was lived a little more cautiously than years past. Profiling and security checks of people from Afghanistan, Pakistan and the Middle East or those that appeared to be from that region were becoming the norm-not right-but the norm. It was on our minds and shoved in our faces by the media that we weren’t safe. As the military was searching rat holes and desert caves for insurgents, we watched CNN and MSNBC for the play by play.  I think I got a little caught up in the irrational fear.

That fear played out one night when I thought I was in bed with a member of the Taliban.

My husband likes his sheets to be all willy nilly on the bed. I documented it here. So when I went into freak-out mode and Danny was sleeping with the sheets wrapped up around his head, it looked unmistakably like a turban. And in the dark of the night, his Italian features and dark goatee did lend itself to my irrational conclusion that the man in bed with me had possible Afghan descent. Yes, I thought he was the Taliban.

I hauled off and hit him.

Not just a girlie slap. A fist clenched, shoulder back, adrenaline pumping, arm torpedo launched right into his head. At the moment of contact and probably aided by the familiarity of his voice which was an unmistakable groan, I realized that I was not protecting my family, nor my country for that matter.  I was sleep fighting and what I had done was punch my made in America, tried and true, good ‘ol Southern boy husband smack dab in his cranium.

Luckily he was asleep-that made two of us-and didn’t realize that I had just assaulted him. I laughed out loud sporadically for the rest of the night and beyond.

Next up: The Bloomberg Report Told Me To.

There Was an Old Lady in my Bed

Danny, my husband goes out of town on business a couple weeks a month so I sleep alone a lot. Not last night.

There was an old lady in my bed. A really small old lady. She was laying across the bed so that her feet were in my gut. I am not sure what she was doing there. I woke up three times to kick her out. It only took fluffing the comforter and smoothing it out to see that, no, there was not anyone actually in my bed. It was just me.

The only other person I can remember “thinking” I was sleeping with was a member of the Taliban. That night did not end well. I’ll save the gem for tomorrow.

Tales of Sleepwalking: Hawaii

I was 14. Our family was on vacation in Maui. Napili Kai to be exact. A name burned in my memory because it was at the Napili Kai resort that I left our room and walked, wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of undies to the lobby of the hotel.

Asleep. I did not wake up until I was smack dab in the center of the lobby. Did I mention I was in a t-shirt and panties? Blue panties to be exact.

Luckily it was 2:00 am and no one was in the lobby. I was thankful that it was not morning yet and there wasn’t a herd of tourists getting ready for their snorkeling expedition or trip to the pineapple plant. I walked back outside and up the hill to our room. Completely awake. Totally embarrassed. And slightly terrified of what my Mother was going to say when she found out that I went joy-walking in my chonies.

I knock on the door of our room. By knocking, the force of the knock actually shut the door and as if in slow motion, I heard the click-click of the door engaging the lock. Me: “NOOOOOO”! (still in slo-mo, of course.) reaching for the handle. It was locked. The door was open the whole time. Why wouldn’t it be? I was sleepwalking, as a breed, we are not concerned with taking our keys or making sure doors are shut properly. I know that now. But I was only 14. I had a lot to learn.

I could have just sneaked back in, gone to bed and no one would have known. Nope, I now HAD to explain where I was. “Don’t ask”! was what I blurted out when she opened the door.

The look of horror, a look that only a mother can truly muster, was on her face. I explained that I was asleep and I didn’t know what I was doing and could we forget this ever happened?

Yeah, no. We still talk about this one.

Tales of Sleepwalking: My First Time

Looking back, my first memory of sleepwalking was when I was 10. I walked off the end of the bed. That was it. I suppose I had a bit of momentum going because I hit the wall-which was at least 3 feet from the end of my bed. I fell on a stack of books and didn’t wake up until my parents came rushing into my room to see what happened. I don’t remember what I was dreaming or what made me get up and rush the wall, but the bruise I sported for two weeks after, was enough for me to remember the experience.

My first time. There it is. There may have been others, I will have to ask my Mom. But this is the first that I remember. They get better from here, trust me.

Next up-Hawaii. Yep, I went sleepwalking while vacationing on the island of Maui. Not pretty.

It’s What I Do.

I wanted to write an informative post. My first post about my night terrors. Hoping their are others that suffer with the same insanity and would like to talk about it. But I am too stinking tired. Tired because I was up several times last night “freaking-out”.

Last night’s was about death, it normally is. Either I am going to die or member of my family will perish if I don’t …

The dot dot dot is freak out. It’s the “thing” that must be done to avert death. Whether it is running around the house like a manic or throwing all the covers in the fireplace or laying still for minutes or hours (I never know how long I’m at it) it’s what keeps death at bay. Well, in my mind. Yes, it is crazy and yes, it is challenging and yes, it is what I do every night.

Join me in the journey as I document my episodes of parasomnia. It’s what I do.