Day 9: 0 snoozes, still slept in

I forgot to arm my alarm last night. The coffee maker woke me up, but I drifted back to sleep and woke SIXTEEN MINUTES late. That's all. Not two hours, just sixteen very reasonable minutes. So apparently I'm so awesome at this that I can't even fuck it up properly. Whatever, you and I both know that my number of snoozes is irrelevant at this point. Like a loveless marriage, I'll go through the motions and continue to report the snoozes because it keeps me writing, even when the best thing I can think of to talk about is sleep drool.

Are you mouth breather? Yeah, me too. A combination of chronic allergies plus what I suspect is a deviated septum means I only breathe about 2% of my air through my nose, on a good day. I blow my nose so much, I'm surprised the tip isn't just one big callous.
I have dedicated garbage cans for my tissues so that I can dump them into the food waste bin (this tends to surprise folks, but there are plenty of non-food items that can go in there, including cat litter - there, you learned something today). I think that I'm single-handedly keeping the facial tissue industry afloat.

All this to say that I drool in my sleep (betcha didn't see that coming). Not all the time, mind you, but enough to warrant a mention. Here's one fond memory of sleep drool: I'd fallen asleep in class, as was my way (see future post on narcolepsy), and when I woke up I felt like I'd been slimed. I'd been using my textbooks as a pillow, you see, and there was a copious amount of drool between my cheek and the textbook it was resting on, enough to soak through the semi-laminated surface and forever scar the cover.

Now bear in mind that I slept in class almost every single day, and I made snoring noises - not loud ones, but noticeably heavy breathing - and every time I'd wake up and look around to regain my bearings, I'd make eye contact with at least one student who happened to be looking at me because of the snoring.

On drool day, it wasn't until I sat up that I realized I'd been lying face down in a puddle of my own drippings. As any of us with older brothers know, spit likes to hang onto itself, forming fragile strings when stretched. It was the sight of that string of drool connecting my mouth to the textbook that made me aware of what exactly was going on.

I internally laughed it off, wiped the drool off my face and then froze as I realized that there was a very good chance that one of my classmates saw the whole thing, and was internally laughing at the single most hilarious thing they'd ever witnessed. Suffice it to say, I had a hard time making eye contact with my classmates after that.

(photo courtesy of flickr user aknacer - check out his work, it's pretty neat)