Last night I went to a friend's house for dinner, and after a lovely meal, good conversation, and scoring a heap of fabric from her as she heavily culled her stash, I climbed into bed wearily and already on the verge of sleep. I was just settling in, rolling over to turn out the light, when something caught my eye. Something on the sheet up near my pillow, in the corner of the mattress. A dried pool of blood about the size of my palm.
On my good 'hotel quality' white sheets mind you.
I sat there slack jawed for a number of seconds, heart racing. WTF? Clearly it was my blood, there were no drips from the maw of a horror movie ghoul lying flat against the ceiling, no signs of me having slayed anything in my sleep the night before. At a guess I'd say a nosebleed, but I've never had one in my life. (Oh, except for an unfortunate childhood incident with an exploratory piece of wire, that is.) And I'm far from consumptive (and bohemian) enough to have delicately coughed Mimi-style in my sleep.
Weird. Sometimes my own life is like a foreign country, even to me. I didn't notice anything the previous morning, although having staggered straight from slumber to the shower I probably didn't have an opportunity to spot anything anyway. What am I capable of next? What will I wake up to on the morrow?