I love sleep. I love everything about sleep: the putting on of the jammies, the crawling into bed, the snuggling into blankets until it's Just Right, the super-stretching accompanied by the body expressing it's extreme displeasure at going past it's breaking point and I'll-Show-Her-Leg-Cramp-of-Excruciating-Pain.... Enter: the Charlie Horse.
I lot these suckers all the time when I was pregnant with Noah and it was always after stretching in my sleep. You ever try bolting upright from a sound sleep 8 months pregnant with what can be best described as a 3 month old in your uterus? No? You should totally try it sometime; it's AWESOME. So last night I was leaving REM sleep to dive deep down into the...non-REM sleep and it happened. Stretched that gastrocnemius past the point of no return and it was the red circle of death. Even asleep I knew it was happening and couldn't stop myself from doing it; the stretch was just too delicious. Until it wasn't.
As is custom, I bolted upright to try to massage it away but...ended up getting tangled in the covers. So it's the middle of the night, my leg is taunting me and I can't get to it because I can't get free of the damn blankets. After an eternity of thrashing around but was probably only around 15 seconds I was able to apply the sweet sweet relief of massage, whispering sweet nothings to my throbbing calf, false promises of never ever EVER doing that again. Finally collapsed back against the pillows and tumbled back into the waiting arms of Morpheus though at that point I was really wishing it was Morphinius because OwOwOw.
Then I got up to exercise which was an absolutely brilliant move resulting in the least-sexy limp in the history of limping all because I'm a masochistic moron.
Related: I'm pretty sure Herschel could beat me in a circle race today.