Boo-Boo

Well, I just can't have a dull day. Yesterday, in the midst of running around and excitement of making deposits, catching Metro, etc... I ate something yellow.

No! Not the yellow! I didn't really think of it when I ate the cheese-sauced roast beef (with bacon) but I sure noticed today around 11 AM when I developed a nasty headache. Mike, who works for the other vendor, was mopping with some Lysol. Whooooeeee. I thanked God for my chewable Tylenol Go tabs, chewed it, and the pain abated somwhat.

I'd rate today's headache at a good 4 on a 1-10. For me, that's hardly worth mentioning. The only real impact it had was that Tylenol affects my lithium levels, increasing them and causing me more side effects. Whine whine.

This morning Ron came to me and apologized. He stated that he'd woken up sitting on the toilet with a vague memory of me yelling at him. He had come into the "computer/exercise" room and spoke to me, then he started groping around on the floor. I asked him, rather shrilly, what he was doing. Looking for my trash can, he replied. He needed to urinate.

Shrill is probably an understatement of my reaction. I thought he was drunk, and I reacted accordingly. I was outraged and devastated. He was definitely groggy and slurring his words a bit. I told him, go urinate in the toilet. He insisted he needed to (violate my) trash can. I told him, NO! Go pee in the toilet! He complied and told me he woke up on the toilet.

"So what happened last night? All I remember is you yelling at me and then I was on the toilet. I did what? You're kidding me!"

So, he sleepwalks. I have a long history of sleepwalking myself. In fact, I usually wandered off in a strange place looking for a bathroom in the middle of the night. Other times, I'd have hysterics until someone found me my glasses. I'll talk up a storm, too. One night, my stepsister talked me into eating a snack, making a sandwich, and leaving a note on the table for my parents to find in the morning. Once I almost fell into a ravine looking for a latrine. The last time I can prove I sleepwalked was a few years back. Our house is all one level with a sliding glass door in my bedroom. A previous owner installed a heavy iron burglar bar type gate that locks in place over the entire sliding door. We always left it open. I woke up one morning and my legs hurt. I looked at my feet and saw they were dirty, and my legs were scratched up. I'd gone sleepwalking in the backyard. Ron locked the burglar bars so I can't get out the back anymore. The window is large enough for me to escape if we ever had a fire. At first I felt like an inmate but I've decided now that it makes me feel safe. If I can't get out (without breaking a window), no one can get in, either.

Ron always thought my sleepwalking was "wierd" so I don't doubt him. It's not something he'd want to admit to doing.