Bruises

I think I've started sleepwalking again. Unlike most native sleepwalkers, this wasn't a problem that manifested itself enormously in my childhood. Occasionally I could be found dozing on the floor of my father's closet or curled up at the end of the parental bed like a faithful lapdog. But for the most part, my sleepwalking was benign, within limits, and with large spaces in between.

Fast forward to my twenties, and the night when I apparently tried to climb out of my boyfriend-at-the-time's sixth story window. After he shook me awake, disproving once and for all the theory that waking a sleepwalker will kill them, we had a long talk about my non-existent suicidal tendencies, which forever offended me. I remember pointing out to him that if I really wanted to cream my body on some pavement it would not be on the dog-shit-strewn Parisian street across from the Gare St. Lazare. The fact that he did not find this funny further added to our compatability issues.

Enter insomnia and Ambien. I gardened on Ambien, melted plastic things on stoves and ... most humiliating of all, got picked up by the Garden District patrol in a satin nightgown wandering Camp Street aimlessly at two in the morning. I actually had to give a police statement the next day, which was pretty much useless as I could only vaguely recollect that I needed to get my mail. Frankly, I'm grateful they just took me home and didn't throw me in a psych ward. That is why, to this day, unless someone is sleeping over, I try to remember to wear some of the most un-sexy pajamas ever made. In case I decide to go for a midnight stroll again.

The reason that I suspect that my body is once again wanting to take a somnambulant turn is the appearance of mysterious bruises all over my body. I am the first to admit I am not most coordinated person in the universe, but I KNOW where my bruises come from. I know because I'll hit something and then say to whoever happens to be around (usually just myself and the dogs) "well, THAT'S gonna make a big bruise." But I have no explanation for these. I have thought of keeping a "things I have physical contact with daily" notebook to identify the bruise sources, but the only thing I really come into contact with are my clothes. And files. But the latter only really presents paper cut issues.

The part that creeps me out the most, and the part that I'll admit is very hard to believe, is that most of the bruises are on my upper thighs and look like someone has grabbed me very hard. Like discernible fingermarks. After questioning all the reasons for this phenomena, I have finally decided to settle on my deteriorating mental state.

And/or a phantom lover. Let's at least hope he's hot.