Lamp'd!

So in the middle of the night, in the midst of a dream, the lamp fell on me.

It had been at the head of my bed, balanced on a wooden TV tray in my parents' guest bedroom, and it toppled onto my head. As my current bed situation is a bit unstable and unpredictable (two stacked twin air mattresses) and given that I am prone to flailing in my sleep, this is not as surprising as it might otherwise seem. In fact, when I recounted the event to my dad, he laughed and said it sounded exactly like the sort of thing that happens to me. This is certainly true: after all, I'm the one who once had a cactus jump into bed with me.*

How exactly the lamp made its descent is a bit of a mystery (Dad and I tried various and unsatisfactory experiments to recreate the event), but it struck my right temple and woke me with a face full of lampshade--which, I discovered this morning, had dented but was easily fixable.

I sleepily felt the sore spot on my head, and, realizing it was covered by my hair, decided I didn't need to ice it. I tried to fall back asleep, but was vaguely tormented by the idea that had I been struck slightly differently, I might have been killed in my sleep by a falling lamp. (My mom speedily dismissed this notion today, and as I reexamined the lamp in the light of day, it did seem far less heavy than I had been picturing in my sleepy ponderings.) I also considered drowsily that if I had a concussion, I should probably not fall back asleep. None of this, however, managed to keep me awake for long at all.

I'm looking forward to sleeping in that same bed tonight, but do think I may put the lamp on the floor. "Death by lamp, while sleeping" would be such a ignominious way to go; I don't think I want to take that chance.

*As this event occurred in 1992, I can't direct you to any charming blog entry about it, but please feel free to ask me to recount the story should we meet in person--and rest assured that I no longer keep potted plants of any persuasion on the windowsill above my bed.