I woke up from a nap about twenty minutes ago and am still not completely convinced I'm awake.
As an adolescent I would commonly awake from naps to see neon heiraglyphics—sometimes indecipherable words, sometimes foreign markings and lines—etched on the walls and ceiling, which would quickly fade as I became more conscious. I would also sometimes be in such extreme states of disorientation that I couldn't even recognize a phone call from my mother. Once, she called to tell me she'd be home soon for dinner, but I couldn't even comprehend who was calling me, let alone why they were calling. Who was this woman? I had a mother? I'd been born? I had no concept of who I was, where I was, or what I was—just that I had picked up a telephone only to be answered by a bodiless voice on the other end. Oh, and no, I was not an eleven year-old acid addict or nap-time narcotics abuser.
These incidents have dwindled as I've grown older, but in the past year I've noticed an increase in a nap-time experience I'd like to call 'The Conscious Coma'. In this state, you are completely aware that you are sleeping and that you'd like to wake up. However, your body has other plans. It requires all your focus and determination just to open an eye or lift your hand—your body won't let you wake up. Today this occurred while napping in Liz's room as she cleaned and packed. After about an hour of being asleep, I "awoke" but couldn't really do anything about it. I heard her music playing, and could even distinguish which band (the everybodyfields), but couldn't manage to get my body to exert itself past a finger lift or eye flutter. Between these attempts, my body would play little dream jokes on me, where I would fall back asleep and dream that I finally woke up, got out of Liz's room, and went about my business. However, every time I'd "awake" again only to find myself lying in Liz's bed, hands neatly folded atop her Ikea duvet. Finally, I decided I needed Liz's help. I knew she was in the room (after a strenuous eye-opening mission) and decided to try and call out her name. The first few came out as inaudible hisses, but eventually (thank you Liz for having such an easy name to emergency-whisper during nap coma attacks!) I was able to emit a noise that sounded something like a very old man saying "iz". This was confirmed by Liz after I abruptly came out of my "coma", sat up and said "Liz, did you here me say your name?!"
However, because of the numerous psyche-out dreams in which I thought I actually got up, I was not quite convinced I had actually woken up—even after going to the bathroom and drinking some water. So, I decided to walk to the coffee shop down the street. This didn't really help to prove anything, since the first thing I saw was a puppy in a Blazer sweater and an English bulldog with tiger stripes—great, I'm either still dreaming or in heaven. So, I write this now in hopes that looking upon this entry tomorrow will finally prove to me that I am awake.
3 comments:
I only played the everybodyfields for less than one song, then it was Neutral Milk Hotel when you were trying to say my name. And it was kind of creepy watching someone sleep in my bed calling out my name. But my first reaction was to look around the room to see what I could scare you with when you came out of your nap comma. I know all about your nap hallucinations and have always enjoyed taking advantage of scaring you during your weakened state. I think my favorite was putting a life size gorrila/man next to you in bed.
The exact same thing happens to me about once a week. I find it super frustrating and still a little terrifying.
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