>It's no secret that I often function as though I am on another planet. However, unlike the folks at The Wall Street Journal, my planet is not Uranus. I'm not sure where my planet is. It is very likely not even in our solar system.
I seem to mentally relocate to the home planet when I haven't slept well in a few days. Oddly enough, when I get anxiety attacks not only do I find up with acid indigestion, but also insomnia. Thus I slept poorly last week, hung out on the home planet, and got confused about all sorts of earthly details, which brings me back to Uranus.
Des pointed out that Uranus is, in fact, still a planet. This confused me, as I was sure that within the last year or so some planet was downgraded from planet status to moon status or the like. It turns out that the degraded planet is Pluto. Uranus is safe! Whew.
After making this crucial mistake and starting rumors about Uranus, I was relieved when the acid/insomnia died down on Friday and I fell asleep at a normal time. My journey back to earth from the home planet was rudely interrupted at 8 AM by enormous noises emanating from the apartment above where my body slumbered peacefully.
My eyes flew open. "What the fuck? Are those assholes moving furniture around at 8 on a Saturday morning?" I thought to myself and looked over at Husband to see if the rumbling/scraping sounds woke him, too. Husband appeared to be unconscious, so I waited a few minutes. Loud banging and dragging sounds continued. It was time to put on some pants and shoes and go upstairs to ask the fuckers what the fuck they were doing moving their fucking furniture so early on a steaming Saturday morning.
Long story short, I was still half-asleep and not entirely mentally there when I rang the doorbell upstairs. A woman in a robe answered. I meant to introduce myself and calmly ask if they were moving furniture and if so, could they please wait another two hours or so, as I really need to get some sleep. Instead, I slurred something like, "What you doin' movin' furnitures around at this hour?"
The women apologized and said her trundle bed was stuck, but she didn't realize how much noise it made. I sort of felt bad then for bothering her, and I think I introduced myself at that point, which was totally awkward and then slunk off to go back to sleep. When I woke up an hour later, I was not sure if I dreamed the whole incident or I actually went upstairs to question her about the morning's activities. Evidence of my actual journey was found when I noticed my jeans and Crocs in the dining room, where I must have stripped them off and abandoned them before I staggered back my room and fell into the cushion-y softness of my bed.
Later, Husband wondered why the people upstairs began drilling at 8 AM. So he did wake up from the noise.
"Didn't you wonder where I was?" I asked him.
"Huh?" he replied. "You weren't in the bathroom the whole time?"
I felt better that I am not the only one in my household who sometimes resides in other worlds.