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Dreaming Genius

I woke up in the middle of the night last night. It wasn’t from a nightmare or the need to pee. Instead, in a fit of innovative dreaming, I had created two new words.

I am completely cognizant that this is not normal behavior. Nor have I heard of it ever happening to anyone else. But there I was, fast asleep, when the words came to me. It was like two twinkies thrown at high velocity towards your face by a well-meaning father.

I sat up like a slingshot, eyes wide open from the “ah-ha” moment. My husband, who is a reasonably light sleeper, turned over.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I said, blindly reaching to my messy bedside table, trying to find my phone on its charger. I needed to write these down before I forgot. Pronto.

But then I recanted. Why shouldn’t I share with my honey bunches of oats? I just had to tell somebody, you know? Moments of brilliance often bypass me, so I need to record them for posterity when one does hit. I’d need a witness to my genius.
So I turned, phone in hand, and landed on my tummy one inch from my hubby’s face. My grin was big enough to see the whites of my teeth in the almost pitch-black room.
“Uh, what are you doing?” He asked, sleepiness fighting to keep him in its grasp.
“I invented two words,” I said, eyes twinkling with the awesomeness of the moment.
“Oh.” He did not sound impressed.
“No, really, it’s like I became a linguist, or whatever people are called who create words.
I paused….. he didn’t ask what they were. Was he sleeping again?
“Tiggle.” He jerked, breathing in hard through his nose.
“Tiggle,” it means a hilarious struggle or trial.
One eye opened.” Uh”.
“Genius, right?”
“Aren’t struggles supposed to be painful moments?”
Huh, look at that. He was listening! Yay him.
“Kind of, but sometimes they are hilarious right?”
I then launched into a tirade of real-life tiggles.
Remember when I was stuck in a dress, and those two old ladies had to tear it in half to get it off me. Or how about that time when the 3-year-old fell asleep in the naughty corner and left a peanut butter jam face mark on the wall?
“Ok,” he said, turning over. I don’t know what he agreed to, but I’m sure he thought it was a good way to get out of this weird conversation
Wait, I didn’t tell you the 2nd word.
‘Ok.” He said, not turning around this time.
“Tuggle.” It means a very small struggle or trial.
“Uh, huh,” he said, voice drifting as he left the world of the awake and went back to sleep.
I lay on my back.
“Tuggle,” I repeated, self-satisfaction filtering to the ends of my toes and fingers. I made a list of Tuggles I’d had recently.
A small splinter in my ring finger.
My sock kept sliding down my foot and collecting in my shoe
An ingrown hair on my chin.
I sighed. My life was complete. I could die in peace now. And hopefully, that process would be a Tuggle, and maybe I’d have a few tiggles before that final moment.
The old lady leaned over the mashed peas and potatoes. Her raspy voice faltered, tripping over itself as she pulled in one final breath. A breath that chortled in unbridled glee. The glob of mashed potatoes had hit true. Nurse Loretta hadn’t even seen it coming. The old lady fell face-first into the brown gravy as her spirit floated away. Away into the starry sky and toward the waiting crowd of laughing ancestors.

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