Sleep Talkin' Man by Karen Slavick-Lennard

beard:
    “My beard can tell a thousand stories.
My mouth, however, just says, ‘fuck you,
stop staring at my beard, weirdo.’“
    He was stirred by television shows we had watched, especially our most guilty-pleasure programs, like this little number during our Ghost Hunters phase:
    “I need someone else to help me catch ghosts. ‘Cause we’re going out to kick seven shades of spiritual shit. Yeaaaah. Ghost Kickers! Free floating vapor? Free floating fucker, more like. Come on, let’s get ‘em!”
    And sometimes, he simply replayed—with his own twist—experiences Adam had, like this narration while we were spending a long weekend in Belgium, which is justly famous for its waffle houses:
    “This waffle is my waffle. I will put my ice cream, my sauce, my cream, and even possibly my strawberries on my waffle. And you will watch me eat my waffle. You will watch me as I carefully slice it up bit by bit. You will watch me wipe my mouth and watch me pay. And then you can have some water and we’ll go home. My waffle, your loss.”
    Of course, noticing how often real life was creeping into Adam’s sleep talking, I couldn’t help but try and experiment to see if I could willfully influence the content of STM’s musings. Much to Adam’s annoyance, I started addressing STM just before we went to sleep. The first time I tried this, I said, “Sleep Talkin’ Man, are you in there? Listen, I’d really like to hear about manatees tonight, okay? Can you tell me something about manatees?” In response that night, I got:
    “‘Sea cow this’ and ‘sea cow that.’
Fucking bastard sea cows taking up all the conversation! It’s MY turn to shine.”
    Sounds like STM resented my showing interest in any particular subject matter, rather than his mere existence. Touchy, touchy!
    Another night, he further revealed his refusal to play by anyone else’s rules. Just before we went to sleep, we were Skyping with my friend Jenny. Jenny, a vegetarian herself, signed off the conversation by saying, “Don’t say anything meanabout vegetarians tonight!” To this, we got:
    “You know, the world will be a much better place when we get to eat vegetarians.
Furthermore, you get your five-a-day with one of those.”
    Apparently, STM doesn’t take requests.
    So while real life references do pop up in Adam’s sleep talking—and make a nice addition to the egomaniacal self-praise, scathing insults, and inexplicable surreality, there’s no mistaking it for reality. I can assure you, in his waking hours Adam knows how to share a waffle.
    “I wanted a shark with laser beams, and I got a manatee with a Maglite.
For fuck’s sake, get back in your hole and get it right.”
ME:
      You said, “I wanted a shark with laser beams, and what I got was a manatee with a Maglite.”
ADAM :
The poor manatee.
ME:
      Why? It’s just a Maglite, he probably doesn’t even feel it.
ADAM :
He can use it as a weapon as well. He can hit something with it.
ME:
      A manatee would never hit anybody.
ADAM :
Out of self-defense, maybe? They’ve got some weight behind them, those manatees. They’re slow, they can creep up on you.
ME:
      They creep up on you and just snuggle you!
ADAM :
And then they kiss you with their bristles. They can fight crime with kindness and cuddles …
ME:
      Oh, I like that.
ADAM :
… and then hit you over the head with a Maglite.
    If honesty’s the best policy,
and the truth hurts, then you’d better call an
ambulance, ‘cause you’re not gonna like the
stuff I’m gonna fucking say.
    Finger painting’s fun.
I need to get some more fingers, though.
Give me your fingers. Oh fuck it, I’ll just cut ‘em off. You’ve got pretty fingers.
I can do some pretty painting with those pretty fingers. Toes, I can use toes! Yay!
I’m sorted. Fingers and toes.
    Batman, why don’t you sit down and have a cup of coffee. I feel much more comfortable calling in the marines.