Pineapple Land

www.nataliedee.com

Maybe I've written about this before (I can't remember), but when my parents were first married my dad started muttering stuff in his sleep one night as if he was taking instructions. "Uh-huh...yes...okay...sure..." And when Mom asked him what the hell he was saying, he told her, "That can of pineapple on the counter is talking to me." (There has been some debate, over the years, on whether or not there actually was a can of pineapple on the counter.) So now whenever somebody's sleepy to the point of not making any sense, or even out cold, we all call it "Pineapple Land".

Well, Richard has taken Pineapple Land to insane new levels over the years. For a while he was taking paintings off the walls in his sleep (subconscious redecorating, I called it). Sometimes he chats with invisible people in a totally conversational tone: "Well, howdy! What brings you here? How ya doin'?" Then he was giving me orders in his sleep: "Hey! Check that thing, will ya? Make sure it's not on fire." And I'd have to pretend to check the unspecified thing just to shut him up. Now it's instructions that make even less sense: "Don't bring any staples in here! And make sure there are no slivers on your pajamas!" (no, I rarely - if ever - go to bed covered in staples and slivers).

And this morning there was a long, semi-coherent diatribe about dust: "When we all got in this box, somebody started throwing dust particles into it. Some were little [holds thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart] and some were this big [throws arms wide, nearly knocking me off the bed]. But when I tried to put in some dust they ran over and said 'No no no, we don't put there in there!' So." And then he zonked out.