It's getting to me, making me gloomy. Where were you last night?

I woke up last night at 3:45 am and had to use the bathroom. Nothing too unusual for that, just was feeling the bladder pressure. So I got up, did my business, and went back to my bedroom.

It was then that I noticed that, sometime in the 4 hours since I’d gone to bed, I’d removed my neck brace. The strange thing is that I don’t remember doing it at all.

There have been a few times where I’ve undone the Velcro straps to loosen it, and I remember waking up and thinking it was too tight, loosened or undid them, and went back to bed. The thing is I remember doing it.

Last night, I undid the straps, took it off, and, as evidenced in the morning, threw the damned thing across the room. All without remembering doing it.

A friend at work tells how she has a habit of getting up and eating in the middle of the night. But she has said that she usually remembers it all, even though she recognizes that she is in some half conscious state when she did it.

She had bought some fudge last week at the Pittsburgh Arts Festival, ate some there and stored the rest in her fridge. She woke the next morning to find the remnants of the wrapper on her kitchen counter and all the fudge gone. As she lives alone, she knows she is the one who did it, but she can’t believe that she doesn’t remember a thing about it.

I, of course, being a good friend, made several jokes about what else she was doing in the middle of the night without knowing it. I was wondering why we can’t channel that energy towards cleaning, or doing laundry. Why does all of our nocturnal, half conscious self have to do bad things? Of course, I predicated my entire line of jokes at the fact that I always remember doing things in the middle of the night.

So here I sit, Friday morning, with a slight headache from not wearing the neck brace because I woke in the middle of the night, tore it off, and in anger threw it across the room. I think that is what I did, cause I can’t remember a thing about it.

Or maybe my cats banded together, heard me gasping for air because I had made it too tight, and with their opposable-thumbless paws, removed the offending apparatus, and made sure they put it far enough away from my reach in the hopes that I didn’t accidentally, while half conscious, retrieve it and put it back on, too tightly, and have problems breathing again.

Yeah, that’s my story. My precious kittens were just trying to save my life. Cause they love me. And they are now considered genetically altered kittens with opposable thumbs. Check out how sweet they look!I wonder if I can get them to move around some furniture in my house so that I can get that BowFlex to fit in here. Cause I don’t seem to have the energy to do it alone. And I’m getting too fat and out of shape to do it on my own. Not in good enough shape to move the one thing that I need to get into shape. Delicious irony, ain't it!