I am an expert at many things: diving, ice sculpting, competitive clogging, and spotting imperfections in collectible plates. One area I've yet to master is sleeping. I know I've catalogued my prior incidents somewhere on here; I'd provide a link but I'm a busy man with no time for search engine fiddling. Essentially, I am prone to freaking out in my sleep, especially if I've been under some stress. Well, last night here at Powell Manor II, I was sleeping saintly in my bed, dreaming of sugar plums. At some point during the middle of the night, the little lady got up to do something. It could've been a trip to the restroom, or it could've been a trip to her meth dealer; I can't rightly say.
Anyway, when she got back into bed, I was jostled just enough to wake up a little bit. I happened to be in the middle of a dream, so I just blurted something out: "What's the destination path?" I actually remember saying that, and it seemed like something of dire importance; I had to know the destination path. She said, "What's that? Are you asleep?" Here, I had no idea what was going on. I ask a perfectly reasonable question and she gives me the third degree. Frustrated by my lack of success, I yelled, "YES!" and then flopped over to go back to sleep. That's a pretty typical sleeping experience for me: ask an incoherent question and then get irritated when it isn't answered.
Laura and I talked about it this morning and she couldn't quite remember the question I asked. I had a hazy recollection, but I didn't know either. I thought about it for a second, and then I said, "Was it destination path?" The reason I thought of it was because I've been working on some code at work that has a variable in it called destinationPath. As if I needed to feel any worse about hollering things out in my sleep, my sleep hollerings are actually about variables from my programs. If I could do all of that while wearing a sequined sweatsuit, you'd be looking at the lamest guy on earth. I think the 2+ years worth of material on this site may've given that away, though.
Posted by Cody at September 29, 2005 7:13 PMSorry son, Your mother does it & I babble much better than you; your grandfather did it & he'd leave holes in the wall; you're destined to being a babbler. Accept and work on improving your talent! Sorry, Trucky, get used to it!
Posted by: fryn L at September 29, 2005 7:41 PMSorry son, Your mother does it & I babble much better than you; your grandfather did it & he'd leave holes in the wall; you're destined to being a babbler. Accept and work on improving your talent! Sorry, Trucky, get used to it!
Posted by: fryn L at September 29, 2005 7:41 PMMrs. Danza will do as such if I move around too much. However, I'll play with her somtimes. If she asks where I put the pickles, I'll tell her that I put them in the farthest tree from the end of the rainbow.
She usually accepts this as a rational answer.
Posted by: Danza at September 30, 2005 1:00 AMI believe I have had some of the scariest sleeping encounters with you in which you wake up and run screaming towards the nearest door like a psychotic maniac who is out to kill. Trucky, you're lucky you haven't had to deal with that...it's a little terrifying.
Posted by: HoPo at October 1, 2005 5:37 PMI'm expecting it anyday now. After the whole destination path incident, I've realized he doesn't mess around with his night terrors.
Posted by: Trucky at October 1, 2005 6:21 PMI remember that story, it was fucking awesome. Also, the time he woke up on HoPo's bed with different clothes on than the night before is a good one.
Posted by: Frito at October 1, 2005 9:04 PM