storage

I checked on my bedside peanut butter supply, and I opened the container to find this. Looks like someone decided to put an earplug away for safekeeping. Boyfriend insists that he had nothing to do with it.

nom

Two facts:

1. I always sleep with earplugs.
2. I keep a spoon and a Tupperware of peanut butter on my nightstand for when I wake up in the middle of the night and need to eat something.

The other night, I woke up with the spoon in my hand and peanut butter in my mouth, which isn't unusual, but what was unusual was that I was chewing on something. Turns out that I had somehow added an earplug to the spoonful of peanut butter, and was trying to eat the whole mess. Yum.

elbow

A few nights ago, Boyfriend woke up suddenly, because I had snatched all of the covers away. As he started to sit up in groggy protest, I continued to thrash around and planted an elbow in his eye, hard enough that he was worried that he would have a black eye, and that he was still complaining that it hurt two days later.

dunkin' granola

Yesterday morning, I woke up and looked at my nightstand to see what I had gotten up to the night before. I had apparently been very hungry, as there was one empty granola bar wrapper, and another half-eaten granola bar. The half-eaten granola bar was still in its peeled-back wrapper, kind of like a half-eaten banana, and the whole thing had been rather purposefully jammed (open granola side down) into a cup of water.

I was so ravenously hungry when I woke up that I fished the waterlogged granola bar out of the water and ate it (despite the fact that I hate soggy food) before I was able to muster up the energy to get out of bed in search of other food before getting ready for work.

nursing my wounds

I woke up this morning to discover that I had somehow managed to hurt my right ring finger in my sleep. I have no idea how this happened, as there is nothing sharp near my bed. I woke up and saw in my Google Reader feed that my friend Wendy had just posted something about her tendency to hurt herself, especially her hands, so I blame her.

When I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to get ready for work, there was an open tube of Neosporin on the bathroom counter, which means that I must have gotten up in the middle of the night, found the Neosporin, smeared it on my finger, and went back to bed.

This means that I not only can't remember hurting myself in the middle of the night, I also can't remember treating the injury in the middle of the night. Who knows how much Neosporin I used in my sleep -- if it was a lot, then it's smeared all over my sheets. I'm glad the cleaning lady is coming today, so that I'll have fresh sheets.