Don't Look At Me, Don't Touch Me

I love to sleep. I love it. Not to toot my own horn, but I am actually quite good at it. I can go to sleep almost anywhere. Buses, trains, libraries. On one occasion I even propped myself against a garbage can and took a nap. That was one of the proudest moments of my college career. I'm so good at sleeping, one could say that I'm like Leonardo DiCaprio building epic dreams in Inception, except that I have much more rugged features compared to Leo's boyish good looks. Suffice to say that I can and will sleep anywhere under one condition; my face has to be covered. Whether it be a hoodie, a sleep mask, my glorious hair, or even a menu (yep, another proud moment where I slept with a Chinese menu on my head while Korean tourists took photos of me at LAX airport), I am not picky. If it can cover my head, then it's good enough for me. My spirit animal must be an ostrich because I would love to bury my head in the ground and leave my body on the surface.

Sleeping with my face covered for so many years has its benefits. I've pretty much slowly weaned myself off of oxygen. I can now attend concerts and flail about at clubs without having to step out for air like my weaker, oxygen-dependent comrades. Finding oneself suddenly besieged by sweaty bodies in a tiny venue for three hours might make a weaker man give up his spot in the front row for some breathing room. Not me. I claim my territory in the front to receive Pit Bull's sweat that I've rightfully earned on my face. Another advantage I've developed from sleeping with my head buried is the ability to camouflage. Is that Julie or is that a pile of laundry? Is this a human being or is it garbage? It's me! Yes, when I sleep, I am like a sniper in a guillie suit, except I'm not shooting people. I'm sleeping.

My close friends and family are well aware of my sleeping style. While some sleep in the slightly sexier position of "face down, ass up," my wife eloquently describes my position as "body exposed, head covered." Ideally, I like to burrow into blankets and completely cover myself, but on the occasion that it is too damn hot, I will make like an ostrich and just cover my head. On a recent trip to Houston, my wife experienced this firsthand. For those who have never visited Houston in November, allow me to illustrate the madness of Houston weather; it was hot and humid like my moldy bra after jogging in triple digit temperature. There must be a cosmic hole in the universe right where Houston is because it was as cold as 50 degrees when we left Dallas that weekend. While I normally have no problem sharing a bed, that night the extra body next to me only exasperated the situation. The night grew increasingly warm, and eventually I had to escape my confines of my blanket. By my sheer courtesy and consideration for Jie, I resisted the urge to also free my body from its cotton cages. Had I been alone, I bet you dollars to donuts that I would have found my Star Wars shirt and flannel pants on the floor the next morning. Alas, Jie awoke to find me spread eagle, albeit fully clothed, and with a blanket on my head. I could hardly excuse my beauty.

On numerous other occasions when I've hit the sauce a little too hard, my helpful friends have had the important task of putting me to bed. I will pass out in a bleary state of confusion and lack of pants but not before properly covering my head. I would probably tell everyone on my deathbed, "It's cool guys, I got this," as I cover my own head before finally dying.

I really like to sleep in complete darkness, and covering my head allows me that. However, the main reason I do it is because it makes me feel safe. I grew up with a real life troll named Jenna. Living with her and sharing a bedroom with her for eight years manifested two great fears that continue to fill me with terror even as an adult: being attacked in the shower and being attacked while I sleep. I am almost positive that this is the reason for my need to partially suffocate myself. For peace of mind, I've put myself under the impression that maybe a blanket will protect my face from Jenna's wrath. Maybe I was a vain child and opted she deface my body than my face. Regardless, I still feel safe with my head encased in some sort of protective barrier. As for the shower fear, I will explain that one when I talk about  my blindness next time.