Is it just me, or are things just scarier in the middle of the night?
I have, on occasion, and only under extreme duress (read: hormonally challenged, only that's BS b/c it happens all the time) exhibited paranoid behavior. But if it's the middle of the night, especially when I'm woken from a sound sleep, the fear factor is ratcheted up to 97.3 on the Richter Scale, a unit of measurement which I've just made up, having no basis in scientific fact whatsoever.
What was I saying?
During daylight hours, an unusual noise might make me hit pause on my stories, put down my bon-bons and go, "Hm. I wonder what that was? I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation for that," and continue to go about my [very important] business. That same innocuous noise at 2:00am? The answer is in multiple choice form: a) Very, very bad people are breaking into the house and will inflict all manner of bodily harm on me and mine, b) Armageddon, basically, c) The sky is falling! the sky is falling! in manner of Chicken Little, or d) all of the above. Just ask John how many times I've clawed him in the back (not that way, you pervs) when I've heard, like, the cat clawing the couch. From a sound sleep, it sounds like some Jabbathehutt-sized, warted, drooling sea monster somehow managed to stay alive without benefit of its usual watery depths to track me down, and is flipper-flopping its way up the stairs to get at my peacefully sleeping children.
Naturally occurring weather patterns are not immune to my impaired judgement. In fact, they rank right up there on my list, and just because they're out to get the entire Eastern Seaboard and not only me gives me no comfort in the wee hours.
So despite the fact that I had a perfectly gorgeous, lovely weekend at the beach, frolicking, drinking, eating and frolicking some more, the bipolar weather habits of my region decided to hit us with crazy loud scary storms each night. How thoughtful! you might think of the Weather. Giving you the storms in the middle of the night, clearing the way for warm, sunny, beach weather by day? What a perfect scenario.
Which, yeah, totally perfect, unless you actually pull a muscle doing the 3:00am 'duck and cover.' The first night we were there, the wind kicked up with such colossal force that I was entirely sure that there was a category 5 hurricane going on, and they weren't able to classify it until after we went to bed, and it was going to take the house down and we were all going to die. Or, the huge tree right next to my window was going to crash down on only me, which momentarily made me consider curling up [hiding] in bed with my kids. Or, the wind would shatter the glass and send ginormous shards flying at my eyeballs. Or, the hurricane would be so catastrophic, it would simply annihilate the entire island, Atlantis-style.
So, of course, the night was spent tossing, turning, and thinking up scenarios more ridiculous than the last, all ending with a flattened house and no Guwi. And the next morning?
Good day, Sunshine! So we went to the beach.
The next night as I was drifting off to dreamland, I actually verbalized the following (to myself, duh, I didn't want to jinx anything): at least there won't be a storm keeping me up tonight so I can get a good night's sleep. And God laughed. And sent the worst, most cataclysmic thunder and lightning storm I've heard in, oh, EVER, down on my wee, previously sleeping head.
John's favorite was when I was blindly making my way back from the bathroom at crazy dark-o'clock because we had lost power (again!) and CRASH! BANG BANG KA BOOM!!! Illuminated only by a flash of blinding lightning, I might have, just maybe, violently crashed onto the bed in the fetal and pulled the covers over in one swift [clawing, clumsy] movement. And whimpered. Hence, the duck and cover.
Thankfully, as each day dawned sunny and new, my night terrors faded. Sam Adams Summer also helped me gain a little perspective (and four extra pounds). Frolicking helped, too.
Back in my own bed last night, with the window unit in our bedroom tempering the humidity in manner of meat locker, I slept the sleep of the peaceful, burrowed under my down comforter, content in the knowledge that all was right in the world. I was safe, cozy, comfortable, and getting a great night's sleep.
And woke up to a downed tree in my backyard.
The moral is? If I sleep through it, it can't possibly be that bad.