Lo siento about the lack of posting this week. Having a job is totally time consuming, you know? And gadge knows I'm not getting anything productive done on that commute what with all the dodging of the nail clippings, anxiety sweats, and general pole germ paranoia.
It seems these days though, a lot of things give me the sweats. You know, like the really strenuous things. Like sleeping. That's right: I'm a night sweater. I'm not talking about a little sweat on the brow. I'm talking about waking up in the middle of the night and wondering if I peed gallons of sweat-smelling pee all over my side of the bed and then rolled in it until I wake up freezing and utterly drenched.
I don't know what is going on with my body chemistry, because this is an entirely new thing for me. It is downright unpleasant. And it is a mystery. I usually go to bed cold. This is Massachusetts, after all, and there is nothing on this sweet earth that I hate more than being cold. If I had my choice, I'd rather be running a marathon through a 110-degree desert than walking down a street with the temperature anything less than 40 degrees. No one wants to be around me when I'm cold. Because when I'm cold, I'm a miserable excuse for a human.
Since I usually go to bed freezing, I pull all the covers up to my chinny-chin-chin. One would think, then, that if I started to get hot in the middle of night, I'd kick some of the covers off. But apparently my comatose body is in such a state of deep unconsciousness that I can't even move. One would also think that since I have cocooned myself in a womb of blessed comforter warmth and began to reach that level on discomfort that produces gallons of sweat from every pore of my body that, at the very least, I would wake up. But I don't. Not until my alarm goes off and it looks like I just went swimming. And worst of all, I'm freezing because I'm soaked in cold, disgusting sweat.
Even though this is a near-nightly experience now, it still surprises me every morning. It's like waking up next to a sweaty stranger. I'm never entirely sure what happened, but I DEFINITELY need to change my sheets.
Since the weather has been getting warmer here in New England, I've taken layers of blankets off the bed. This hasn't helped. I can now go to bed completely comfortable and I will still wake up drenched. And it's not like I'm hopping into bed in my long johns either. I practically sleep naked, and the one item of clothing I do wear to bed -- my underoos -- I could absolutely wring out into the sink the morning and get at least half a cup of butt sweat.
B, as you can imagine, was a little surprised when he rolled over to my side of the bed after the first night of sweats and found himself in a swamp.
B: Oh my GAH did you pee the bed? It's DRENCHED.
Me: No I sweat like crazy in my sleep.
B: You sweat THAT much last night?
Me: You get shwasted and pee your pants ONE time and you face suspicion for the rest of your life? Plus, it's not like I ever peed the bed. I just peed my pants. ONCE.
Me: Okay twice.
Me: Fine. Two and a half times.
Be: Little Miss Pee Pee pants strikes again.
Me: IT'S SWEAT.
And he's getting off easy. Usually, I like to drape every available limb on top of B when I sleep. And before the nigh sweats started, he constantly complained that my skin was on fire. Now that I wake up in a puddle of NOT PEE, I graciously roll to the edge of the bed, instead of on top of B. Sometimes I'm so considerate it slays me.