Monday, November 19, 2007

"Since I'm eating for three," he said.

"Say what?"

Sometimes I think it should be Ed instead of me with the aspirations to be a writer. He is a much better storyteller even in his sleep.

As I was sitting here staring at the blank white of blogger's platform, trying to decide on what to make my post about, he put his hand on my back and said, "Could I ask a really really big favor? Is there anyway I could get you to make me a peanut butter and butter sandwich? And since I'm eating for three, you might as well make two."

He had been asleep for two hours at this point and it isn't unusual for him to ask me to go fill his water bottle or make him a middle of the night sandwich. But when he added that last, I knew he was talking in his sleep. Even when I turned and he met my eyes with both of his. I have carried on the most comical and entertaining conversations with him when he is talking in his sleep.

I asked him, "Are you awake?" and he said, "Probably." So I asked, "What do you mean you're eating for three?" and he said, "I'm eating for the shipping dock supervisor and the truck driver who doesn't have to worry about his load ...." his explanation faded into a series of mumbles, umms and snores. But his eyes were still open and apparently focused on mine. I said, "Ed, your aren't at work." He said, "Oh." and then "Well, I never claimed to be logical." And I laughed because that is exactly what he's always claiming this Mr. Spock wannabe. And he added, "Well not all the time." I then said, "I think you are talking in your sleep." and he said, "Probably." I asked, "You sure you want that sandwich?" He nodded and said. "Two."

So I went and made the sandwiches.

At least it was something I could do for him. There are times he asks me to do things that aren't doable. Like running up to his office to get the product numbers for the manifest. Or entering the data on the day's events into the work sheet. Or sending a nastygram (a chiding email) to Fulfillment and Support asking where his product was. Or writing a req (a request) to HR for six more line workers.

It's not always about work. Over the summer it was often about the dirt track races, a computer tech issue, or the novel he was reading just before bed. But this is the season when he works overtime so this is pretty much what I can expect until after Christmas. After Thanksgiving these conversations will probably be the only ones consisting of multiple syllables that I will get with him until the Friday before Christmas.

1 tell me a story:

Ann 11/20/2007 5:05 PM  

That's too funny, I used to talk in my sleep when I was much younger. My mom would come into my room on Saturday morning on her way to work and tell me what she wanted me to do that day, and usually leave me the grocery money on my dresser. I'd wake up hours later and find the money but have no clue what it was for. :)
P.S. I could have sworn I left a comment on your poem yesterday, I think it's good. And eighth grade is the height of angst.

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