I woke up about a quarter past one this morning to the sound of the worst oboe player on the planet: feeble blats and bleats and bloops that for some reason sounded like they were coming from the depths of my pillow. I roused myself and slammed the pillow against the wall, on the dubious basis that if something had crawled into the pillowcase and was advising me of its presence, well, it damned sure wasn’t going to escape.
Nothing there, so I reset the pillow arrangement and returned to a sleeping position. The sub-P.D.Q. Bach noises resumed. It took me about ten minutes to figure out that some combination of glottal position, snot distribution, and airway orientation was causing me to emit these ghastly sounds, which were of course duly amplified by ears in close proximity thereto. It took me another ten minutes to find a position in which I couldn’t hear them, and then I didn’t stir again until nearly 6 am.