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I dropped the butcher knife onto my side table, pulled on my pajamas pants, grabbed my Sig–Sauer P226 from under the pillow, and ran to the door. Waking up with a gun in my hand would’ve made a lot more sense, but no, I woke up clutching a knife. That meant I must’ve gotten up in the middle of the night, ran into the kitchen, took a knife from the butcher block, ran back into the bedroom, grabbed a blanket, and hid in the closet. All without realizing where I was or what I was doing. If that wasn’t crazy, I didn’t know what was.