A portion of nights, I sleep in a t-shirt, and a portion of those, I wake up without one. I don’t know how this happens. Either I toss around until the shirt comes onto my head, then wriggle out of it when it starts to constrict and suffocate me, or I just remove it with my hands for comfort. Either way, I never wake up.
This morning I found my shirt in an orderly, elongated bundle, at the side of my pillow—a typical arrangement for this phenomenon.
The shape and position seem to suggest that the shirt is placed, not haphazardly thrown off, although I don’t know if the shirt achieves such a state immediately or over the course of the night. If I do remove my shirt manually, I only do so crudely, as I tend to find the garment inside out.
That’s the mystery: that the shirt is inverted. It is difficult to believe that ordinary nighttime rolling about can disshirt me so completely, but if I have some bizarrely mild parasomnia, why don’t I leave my shirt right-side out like I do when I undress wakefully?
After such a night, conciousness brings confusion and wonder. What else do I do while sleeping? What of my roommate, or any potential bedmates? Most importantly, can I harness my bedborne skills—no, powers—for anything besides sloppily pulling my shirt over and off my head?