Deep sleep.

I should be embarrassed to admit this... but I'm not.
When I was a kid I had bladder issues. You know, of the I-wet-my-bed-till-I-was-in-fourth-grade (give or take?) variety. One of my most vivid memories was of dreaming that I was walking to the bathroom, sitting down to relieve myself, and then doing so, only to find myself lying in a puddle of warmth. Wet warmth, to be exact. Ugh. Not so relieving after all.
I never imagined that such discomfort would weasel its way into my early thirties. Well, it has. Last night I fought my conscience urging me to drag my exhausted limbs out of bed before turning out the light to empty what little may have been left in my bladder. At 3:43 a.m. I paid for it. That's right, I wet the bed. Well, not exactly. I wet my pants, which, fortunately were absorbent enough to avoid a complete change of sheets.
Yes, my childhood dream has resurfaced in all its glory. And it was so stinkin' real there was no fighting it. Except by taking care of business before hitting the pillow, that is. Which is exactly what I plan to do every night from here on out.