I crack my knuckles. In my sleep.
(I mean, I know I'm a bit strange, but this seems downright bizarre.)
In fact, just last night, I woke both myself and my husband up out of a deep sleep. I was laying on my back, eyes closed, hands straight up in the air, as if reaching for the ceiling. Except I wasn't reaching for shit. I was cracking each and every one of my goddamn fingers. I think I was on my last two or so when I began to stir and realized that I had my hands UP IN THE AIR. I'm not sure if it was this very zombie-like posture that woke me up, or the fact that my husband's disembodied hand appeared to smack my arms back down to my side.
(The WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! was implied.)
Being the sleuth that I am, I've come up with a few theories about this mysterious behavior:
1. I was in the midst of a dream wherein I was about to debate Michele Bachmann.
2. Some sort of Texas-caliber spider has worked its way into my brain through my ear canal and is playing puppeteer with my muscle control. DANCE, WOMAN! DANCE! (Okay, sure. Cracking your knuckles works, too.)
3. Something about the Matrix.
4. Something about Jason Bourne.
5. Something about too many drugs.
I've also consulted Dr. Google, but he's a fucking passive-aggressive asshole:
|Click to enlarge.|
(What do you do in your sleep?)
PS: You can find me at The Mouthy Housewives today, offering advice on a woman who's sliding down the slippery slope of Peeping Tom addiction.
And, at MamaPop where I tell you about a bunch of asshole mothers that are up in arms over the new Ben & Jerry's ice cream, Schweddy Balls. (Heheh.)