A Light Sleeper

A Light Sleeper

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

I had a friend that could sleep through a carpet-bombing. I found this out because he needed a place to crash once, so I let him sleep on my couch. He had to be up for work in the morning, so he put my clock radio on the arm of the couch and set it for seven thirty. The thing was actually touching his head. At the appointed time, the full blast, blaring hard rock music alarm went off, just as intended. I was already up and shaving in the bathroom, which was only about fifteen feet from where he was laying. After about five full minutes of listening to Van Halen scream their deafening music, I walked into the living room thinking that my guest must have left. When I reached the couch, in sheer amazement, I just stood there and marveled at the sight. There he was, wrapped comfortably in a blanket, snoring away like contented baby in undisturbed slumber. With grinding lead guitar riffs blaring out at full volume literally sitting on his head, he never even twitched.
No one like that should be allowed to live.
I, on the other hand, am what you might call, a light sleeper – beyond belief! I am such a light sleeper that one might say I need psychiatric treatment, medical experimentation, evaluation and treatment from a Voodoo priestess. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, is as light a sleeper as I am.
For instance, once when I was dead in sleep, blissfully sawing a forest full of many a dreamland logs, I was awakened by a noise. It was a curious sound, one that I didn't recognize. My eyes shot open, I held my breath ... and I lay there, unmoving, listening in nervous silence. I didn't hear it for a moment and thought that maybe I'd been dreaming, maybe I hadn't heard anything after all. But, suddenly, there ... it sounded again. What was it? I wondered. It lasted for only one or two seconds, and had the sound of a cat's low, growling purr. It was kind of a "grrrrrrrr" sound and came at regular intervals, spaced out with about ten full seconds of quiet in between.
Because of how it sounded, the first thing I thought of was an actual cat. There are a couple of cats that roam the buildings of the apartment complex where I live and my bed is right next to the window. But as I listened, I decided that couldn't be what I was hearing. It didn't sound like it was coming from outside. It was coming ... from ... inside ... Yes, it was coming from inside my apartment.
And I don't have a cat!
Now I was scared. What in the hell could that be? If it's an animal that somehow got into my bedroom and hid away, I didn't want to disturb it until I could find the damned thing and chase it out, or if need be, send the poor little thing on home to its maker with a nine iron.
Then the strangest thing happened.
As I listened, I noticed that coincidentally at the exact same time I heard the sound, I felt an odd sensation on my stomach. That prompted me to lift the covers and listen again. Sure enough, the sound I was hearing was my stomach growling. That is what woke me up. I laid awake for about twenty minutes because I had to wait until it stopped its incessant mewls, groans, and purrs before I could get back to sleep.
I wonder how one goes about finding a Voodoo priestess.

Keck