Friday, June 29, 2018

Dream On ~ Part 23

“So you could just fall asleep while we’re talking?” asked Cordel. “Just at any second, you could be snoring?”
Arlyn shook her head. “No, it’s only like that in the movies. I know when I need to sleep, when an event is coming on. I can usually get to a bed, or the couch in time. It doesn’t happen often because as well as the medicine I take in order to help regulate it, I stick to a schedule.”
“The schedule I agreed to keep when I signed the contract,” admitted Cordel.
“Yes,” said Arlyn, “but this isn’t all your fault.  I should have been upfront with you. I just hate sharing my diagnoses with people. Once they know, they start treating me different and it’s like everyone is walking on eggshells around me. No one wants to trigger the narcoleptic girl.”
She piled more fried rice and another egg roll on her plate.
“Well I am sorry I triggered the narcoleptic girl,” said Cordel. “Regardless of your illness, I acted like an entitled turd this morning. I’m sorry.”
Arlyn gave him a smile.  “I think you just came up with the name of your book … Entitled Turd.”
Cordel let out a hearty laugh. “Sounds like a best seller to me! I know a lot of entitled turds who will think it’s their autobiography.”
“Oh but there can only be one entitled turd,” said Arlyn.
“I am one of a kind,” confessed Cordel. He sat his plate on the table and leaned back. “I’m a stuffed one of a kind. How are you still eating?”
“As I said earlier, it’s a side effect of the narcolepsy,” explained Arlyn. “The food sensors and sleep sensors in the brain are very close together, so sometimes my brain mistakes being sleepy for being hungry. Since I’m so tired, my body craves carbs for a quick fix. After cataplexy, my brain is not only confused about my food sensors, but since my body has been stressed it thinks I need fuel.” She pointed to the banquet on the table. “So I eat, like a lumberjack.”
“This is all so fascinating,” said Cordel. “I feel I should be writing a book about you, instead of the other way around.”
“You can write?” joked Arlyn.
“Hardy, har har,” said Cordel. “You know this isn’t fair. You can make all the jokes you want to, but if I start to joke, you’re going to go into a cataplexic state again.”
“True,” said Arlyn, matter-of-factly. “You just have to put up with me and my lumberjack appetite. Just be glad you know me now. I used to a mess.”
“Used to be?” Cordel raised an eye brow.
“Hardy, har har,” mocked Arlyn. “In high school I had no idea how to manage my hunger. It controlled me instead of the other way around. I was a big girl due to that lack of control. The lunch lady once found me in the cafeteria eating all the bread rolls that were meant for lunch. They bought them pre-cooked and then just stuck them in the oven to reheat. There I was, eight in the morning, skipping my first period class eating cold rolls. I was so embarrassed.”
“Oh that’s nothing,” said Cordel, “and I don’t even have a medical excuse for my embarrassing story.”

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