I sleepwalk. I’ve been doing it all my life.
Most of the time. I find myself doing simple things:
Sitting on the couch with a remote in my hand
Sitting in front of my computer
Standing in my closet
I once wrote 500 words of the next chapter of a novel, and they are the same 500 words of that chapter today.
I also do chores while sleepwalking, like emptying the dishwasher and folding clothes in my sleep.
That’s serious productivity.
I also eat cereal in my sleep. I find bowls in the morning with a little bit of milk, a couple of Cheerios, and a spoon.
I’ve had long conversations with Elysha while asleep.
I once approved a $15,000 spinal surgery on my dog, Kaleigh, while in my sleep after a long discussion in the middle of the night with Elysha and the veterinary surgeon on the phone.
When I was a kid, my Scoutmaster would tie one end of a rope to my ankle and another to a tree because I would wander into the woods while sleepwalking. Eventually,. I started untying the rope in my sleep and wandering away anyway.
Once in my life, I woke up behind the wheel of my car while wearing my McDonald’s uniform.
Happily, the car was still parked in the driveway.
When I stay in a hotel, I engage every lock possible on the door and put my suitcase or a luggage rack or some other obstacle in front of the door to stop me from leaving the room. I also sleep in shorts and a T-shirt just in case I manage to get out.
Thankfully, that has never happened.
But on Sunday night, I did something new:
I sleepwalked on an airplane.
I fell asleep on a flight from Chicago to Hartford. In the middle of the flight, a flight attendant touched my shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”
I wasn’t sitting in my seat. I was standing in the aisle, about ten feet from the restroom, not moving. When she touched my shoulder, I awoke, startled.
“I think I was sleepwalking,” I said.
“I think you were, too,” she said. “You just stopped in the aisle and didn’t move.”
I apologized and returned to my seat.
Later, that same flight attendant came by to check on me. I assured her that I was fine and that sleepwalking was something I do from time to time.
“That must be terrifying,” she said.
Not really.
When I sleepwalk, it’s as if a second operating system turns on, allowing me to do the same things I can do when awake. I engage in conversation, complete chores, and even write books. I suspect that what eventually happens is that the second operating system gets stuck—the proverbial hourglass begins spinning—causing me to stop moving and, eventually, depending on the position I’m in, wake up.
My doctor was concerned because people will sometimes sleepwalk outside into the snow and cold and freeze to death, but given that I can write, eat, and have long conversations with Elysha when she thinks I’m awake, I can’t see myself walking out the door in the winter and not waking up.
But sleepwalking on a plane?
I did not have that on my BINGO card.
I hope to never have it again.
