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down here trying to save you from the sight of your disabled and temporarily paralyzed wife BECAUSE I’M TRYING TO PROTECT YOU.” Then Victor gave me what I guess was a look of pity, or maybe love. I don’t know because I was still facing the floor but I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt because that’s what marriage is all about.
    I suddenly realized that all of this might make a pretty good chapter and I wanted to write it down but I still didn’t have arms to write with. So instead I said, “I’ve actually been down here working on my book but I don’t have a way to type. Can you just turn on the voice-recognition part of my phone and lay it by my face so I can dictate notes because my arms don’t work right now?” and Victor said, “ Your arms don’t work right now? ” and I said, “Yes. Apparently I slept wrong and lost circulation and they’re both still asleep.”
    â€œHoly crap,” he said. “You’re so lazy that even your limbs are still sleeping while I’m talking to you.”
    â€œ Quite the contrary ,” I explained as I struggled to roll over onto my back. “I’m so hardworking that I’m awake even when my body is still partially unconscious and I’m like, ‘ Fuck you, arms. I’ll still be productive without you .’ THAT’S HOW DEDICATED I AM.”
    I was starting to get some of the feeling back in my left arm and I lifted it to try to brush Hunter away from my nose but instead I just smacked myself in the face.
    Victor stared at me with concerned resignation. “You just hit yourself.”
    â€œIt’s possible my arms might be rebelling. Just put the phone next to my face and leave me. I have important work to do here.”
    He shook his head with disappointment, but he still did it and I started dictating. But the transcription app kept autocorrecting my story to something less ridiculous because even my phone was against me at that point. Then Hunter saw the words on the phone moving and he kept pouncing on it and resetting the cursor. I laid my head down on the rug in defeat as the pain of pins and needles flooded my arms, and wondered how often this sort of shit happened to Hemingway.
    Victor claims these kinds of things don’t go on in normal households, but I’m pretty sure this entire incident could be blamed on the fact that I have several real-life sleep disorders. This is not too surprising considering that I collect neurological disorders like other people collect comic books. Basically I’ve become so talented at having disorders that I can literally have one in my sleep . Victor doesn’t think this is really something to brag about, but that’s probably because he doesn’t have any disorders and he’s jealous.
    Jesus. It’s not a competition, Victor.
    (But if it were a competition I’d be winning. Handily. )
    Victor had been pushing me into doing a sleep study for years, but I’d felt it was a waste of time and money. I already knew I had a problem so I didn’t really want proof that I was fucked up even when I was unconscious.
    Besides, I wasn’t the only one with sleep problems, as Victor had been talking in his sleep since he was a kid. When he was eight he was traveling with his dad and sat up in a darkened hotel room at two a.m., opened his eyes, and raised his arm to point toward the dark hall, saying, “Who’s that man standing in the corner?” Then he lay back down and went straight back to sleep while his father quietly shit himself. Metaphorically. Probably.
    A few weeks ago Victor woke himself up yelling, “LADY. YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER. OUR CAT ISN’T EVEN IN THE HOSPITAL. HE DOESN’T WANT PAJAMAS. ” Poor Victor. Even in sleep he’s plagued by assholes.
    It might be hereditary because my dad also has major sleep issues. I never really noticed it when I was a kid because