And, according to all reliable accounts, I have taken to the nocturnal hours, in which to practice my orating.
Not only am I prattling in my sleep, apparently I do it en voz alta! (In a loud voice!)
The weird thing about my new “habit” is that I know when I am doing it. I don’t wake up but I am aware I need to speak. When it happens, I see myself, in my mind’s eye, curled up in a tight ball. And I’m struggling to say something but I just can’t seem to form the words. I’m not afraid, or angry, or sad; I just want to talk.
This is terribly ironic, because I talk all the time.
(Ask Kitty, we converse non stop.) I don’t have the feeling of being ignored. (Except by Kitty)
During conversations with Beloved, he manages to appropriately bob his head up and down. Often, he even contributes a well timed “hmmmm” or “really?” I’m just teasing; he really is a good listener, especially when I yammer about sports!
When I talk in my sleep, Beloved says I don’t form words, just a frustrated sounding noise; something that sounds like, “Uarrgh.” This is in complete opposition to the pearls of wisdom that I generously share, on a consistent basis, during waking hours.