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Out of bed, suddenly. Just a Good Night's -- Oops!By Rick Horowitz * Did you hurt yourself? * Did you break anything? * Did you wake anyone? * Do you tell anyone? No. No. No. And apparently. The guy was getting in my face -- that much I remember. He was getting in my face, and he was starting to punch me in the arm. I don't remember why he was doing it, only that he was doing it, and I didn't like it, so I took evasive action. And that's when I fell out of bed. Seriously
You think it's easy falling out of bed? "As easy as falling out of bed" -- isn't that how the old saying goes? If it's so easy, how come I'd never done it before? If it's so easy, have you ever done it? I didn't think so. I could say I had it coming. I may not live on the edge, but I definitely sleep on the edge. I sleep on the edge so that I'm right next to the night table, where the radio is. That way, I can turn the radio's volume down to next-to-nothing and still hear it when it goes on in the morning. I can hear it go on, and I can lie there and listen to the news for a while without disturbing a spouse, or a cat. I never thought of it as all that risky. (Not nearly as risky as, say, disturbing a spouse. Or a cat.) But last night my number was up, and I still don't know why. It wasn't the first dream I've ever had, or the worst. I've been trapped on stairways, lost on subways, shunned by friends, unprepared for exams -- the normal catalog of middle-of-the-night psychodramas. I've done my share of thrashing at bogeymen, of running as hard as I can and getting absolutely nowhere. This time, I got somewhere. I got from the mattress to the carpet with my eyes still closed. But why? I wasn't feeling especially jumpy at bedtime. I'd had a reasonably productive day. I wasn't worried about anything -- anything I could put my finger on, anyway. True, I'd just finished watching the latest Republican presidential debate, but even exposing myself to two-plus hours of candidate smackdowns didn't jangle me, or get my blood racing any more than it usually does. (Besides, the guy punching my arm didn't look anything like Mitt Romney.) I'd eaten a late dinner -- but not that late. I'd eaten a big dinner -- but not that big. It wasn't strange food, or even spicy food. Nothing I hadn't eaten a dozen times before. I'd thought I might be coming down with a cold, but all I took was a couple of ibuprofen before I turned in. That wouldn't explain it either. I can't find anything to explain it. Anything beyond the explanation that's too simple -- and too dull -- to be even remotely acceptable: that I just fell asleep an inch or two closer to the edge than I normally do, and that my first dreamy duck-and-dodge took me right over the side. In the cool light of day, last night is still a mystery, some random act of gravity. I'm not bruised. But I'm confused. Seatbelts, anyone? Posted 12/16/07.
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Rick Horowitz
