Morning Sickness: Is it my imagination or am I pregnant?

Just the other morning, something I did really bothered me. It wasn’t one of the normal things that I do, like grabbing the salt shaker instead of my glass of milk, or putting the fly swatter in the fridge. It was what I realized when I woke up- I was wearing a shirt. Yeah yeah. Its not that strange, is it? But it is when you don’t wear one going to bed. There are two logical, well mostly, explanations for this event. One would be this: sometime in the night little green goblins with hair on their toes tried to smother me with a shirt, but failed. Or I woke up in the night, put on a shirt and simply don’t remember it. I asked my parents about it. They didn’t really have much to say about it, like normal. Its not really important to them. But it bothered me. Why couldn’t I remember? I don’t remember a time when I haven’t remembered doing something. Unless I don’t remember remembering a time even though it really happened, but I just don’t remember. (huh?) It wasn’t until I had stood up and starting picking out clothes for the day that I realized that I was wearing a shirt. And possibly the only reason I could even recall specifically not wearing a shirt when I went to bed, was the shirt that I was wearing. It was… a belly shirt. Yes. It was so small and tight, it was hard to breath. After a little breakfast thanks to Tyler (Petel, brutel, something-el) and the energy drink special at Greenway, I had a little time to think about it on my way to work. What else have I done when I am sleeping and unaware? Is there more? I ask myself what kind of person someone would find in my subconscious. Is it possible that I’ve lived an entire day in my subconscious, unaware? Could I function a day not as Ryan, but as THE Ryan, the one underneath and inside? I’ve run through the scenarios. And honestly I don’t know. Maybe my life has been an unconscious “something”. Possibly this train of thought is something my subconscious mind has conjured up. It’ll only last until the real me wakes up and the person typing this becomes imagination. I guess I won’t know if I’m the real deal or I’m the me in my unaware upstairs. Would my being aware of the fact that I’m just a figment of my own imagination render me as real as my counterpart, or would I only still be just the dust in the air? Is my conscious self going to know about this when I wake up? To me, it doesn’t matter. I’ll take it on faith that I’m the real deal. To me, this is as real as it gets, until someday I’ll move past it all and into the realm of the Most High.