Scott here.

I made the mistake of turning over last night, which awakened Angie.  “Scott?” she says while shaking my shoulder.  “Do you remember that weird situation we’re in?”  “No,” I said, while looking at the clock that says 2:30am.  She scoffs at me, as if I should know what she’s talking about.  “That guy….we need to get the clothes out of the car.”  I don’t respond.  I’m seriously trying to remember if there is a weird situation we’re in because -

A.  Angie’s mind is always whirling and she has a much better memory than me.

B.  It’s 2:30 in the morning and I’m not fully in my right mind either.

She asks me a couple more unusual questions and continues to scoff at me for not knowing the answer.  At this point I know she’s sleep talking/walking…again.  She gets out of bed and pulls out her insulin pump to use the green LCD light to look around the dark room.  “That’s so WEIRD!  It was just right..here.”  She moves to a couple more corners in the room, still saying, “That’s so WEIRD!”  Finally, sobriety enters the room and she asks, “Scott, was I dreaming this?”  I told her yes, it was a dream.  I was shocked she believed me.

The night before was my turn when Angie woke me up after I had fallen asleep for an hour.  I told her, “Why do we have to get pictures?  I don’t understand?”  Then she laughed at me.  I knew for CERTAIN she knew EXACTLY what I was talking about, but the laughing made me so mad I walked out of the room.  Sobriety entered the bathroom I was in and I realized it was probably a dream.  Still, there’s nothing that makes a man angry like his wife laughing her head off at him for what appears to be no reason whatsoever.  It’s more cruel than anything, until I woke up the next morning and thought it was funny too.

The night before that wasn’t as dramatic, but just as unusual.  About 5am Angie said, “Is that it?  Is that Mount Kilimanjaro?”  Well, that was a new one.  Not Mount McKinley, not the Rocky Mountains, not Jesus on the Mount of Olives, but Mount Kilimanjaro.  Even she doesn’t remember where that one came from.  What an active bedroom we have that comes from our nightly dream theater.