Lately I have a lot of trouble sleeping. I typically fall into bed, totally exhausted, and conk out immediately, but a couple of hours later I’m awake again. Usually I don’t mind this all that much. Sometimes I just lay there quietly, enjoying the inky darkness and the complete silence of the house. It’s a real novelty around here lately. Silence.
Sometimes I feel keyed up, and I start mentally reviewing the next day’s to-do list, while idly rubbing my sleeping husband’s head. He has thick, silky hair, and running my fingers through it is calming. It lowers my blood pressure, kind of like petting a cat.
Lately though, I don’t enjoy my night-wakings at all, because of this, which I have named “Scary Alien Man:”
It’s just a pattern of light, cast onto the wall by a 1950s fireplace clock on my husband’s nightstand. The clock was a gift from me to him because, many years ago, we saw it on a show about vintage clocks, and my husband got all excited because he had one in his room as a child and loved it. The next day I scoured the internet until I found one in good, working condition, and I bought it for him. Now I’m rethinking that decision.
This clock used to be on our vanity, facing the bed, and the light sometimes kept me awake. So, we moved it to the nightstand next to the bed, but now it creates this eerie image, which looks to me like a freaky alien peeking at me from around a door. All night long it stares at me with its cold, dead eye. It’s unnerving.
My husband does not see this at all. He thinks I’m insane. One night I tried to explain it to him. I even got out of bed and pointed out the eye and nose, the curve of the shoulder. He said I was nuts, and then he spent about 15 minutes moving the clock around, making the image appear alternately bigger, then smaller, and laughing maniacally every time I shrieked and dove under my pillow.
The man loves to tease me. Loves it. He works on it like it’s his job.
I threatened to put Scary Alien Man on my blog and expose him for his cruelty. I told him that you would see what I’m talking about, and you would feel sorry for me, so…
Back me up here, OK?[print-me/]