There are some nights when you just want to drop into bed and never get out again. We all have them­­—studying, partying or working too hard­—you’re just dead tired. But at these times of near-unconsciousness, weird things just happen to me.

We’ll start with my roommate. Maggie is one of my best friends; she is a sweetheart and we get along great. However, shortly after moving in with her, I discovered her dark little secret: She talks in her sleep. A lot.

The first night it happened, I was coming home late from work and just wanted to crawl under the comforter. I was climbing into my top bunk when suddenly Maggie sat up, and said, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Um, going to bed. It’s 2:30,” I replied.

“Stop it, just stop it already!” she yelled.

I jumped down, wondering what the problem was. Then she laid back down, rolled over and went to sleep. In the morning, she remembered none of it, and I had a stiff neck from sleeping on the couch.

It wasn’t just a chance occurrence either. I have been yelled at, cursed out and occasionally berated in French. My roommate is a very aggressive sleeper.

One night, when she was off on a sleepy French tirade, I gave up and went to sleep in my friend Jarrett’s room. I curled up on his futon and started drifting off to long-awaited sleep.

Suddenly, Jarrett sat up and smacked his head on the ceiling so hard I jumped. He looked around, and asked if I was all right.

“Umm, you were the one that hit your head.”

“Oh, OK,” he said and rolled over.

Of course Jarrett remembered none of this in the morning either, or the repeated times he sat up and asked me who I was. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep.

While I can laugh at these two for their sleepy antics, I am no Sleeping Beauty. I don’t curse in French; however, I occasionally bust out some Italian. I must tell some great jokes too, because I have been told that I laugh in my sleep a lot. My most dangerous habit, though, is sleepwalking.

Most nights I don’t make it out of the room. I usually just fall out of bed, get to the door and wake up. But some nights, I can make it all the way to the hallway, and while I have never gotten outside the dorm, I have woken up on the first floor a few times.

Things were worse at home though. At home I would actually stand up and walk off the bed, which explains the scar on my right knee from falling off and landing on my dresser. Other nights I would wake up in the laundry room, the basement or even outside.

The worst was when one night I actually wandered across the street into the neighbor’s house and slept on their couch. That was an awkward morning.

As far as I know, no one has actually found me sleepwalking besides my mom. She can’t mock me too much because she sleepwalks too. My favorite was when I woke up to find her in the kitchen, and she asked me if I wanted her to make me some broccoli. I said yes, but she woke up and went back to bed instead. I just can’t catch a break.

So while you dream sweet dreams, I have my guard up. Who knows when my roommate’s screaming will move onto her throwing things at me? Or when my mom is ever going to make me that broccoli?

I guess I’m a lot like Chuck Norris. I don’t sleep—I wait.

_If you would like to compare sleeping stories or random Chuck Norris jokes with Megan, e-mail her at mcorbett2@wisc.edu._