Last night, Kyle said the following in his sleep:
K: The man! with the medicine truck!
K: The man! who had the truck, who gave me medicine for my back!
A: Ummm. Who the F gave you medicine out of a truck?
K: (Increasingly angry at my stupidity) I don't know how to make this any clearer to you. It was the man, with the truck. and there was that other one, who was having sex with Rob.
A: We don't know anybody named Rob.
K: ugh, nevermind!
I should point out that Kyle is, in fact, taking medicine for his back (a [probably] torn rotator cuff, serious business. We won't talk about the distress I feel about being helpless to fix it for him. I am a nurse, a fixer). He hates the pain meds because they make him feel stoned all the time and he's been getting strange and vivid dreams. By the way, the medicine was NOT obtained from any sort of man with a medicine truck. He got it from this weird place called the hospital.
Honey, if you read this, I love you. You and your medicine truck. And I'm sorry for telling the internet about the things you say while you're sleeping.
3 hours ago