Maybe I Should Go Back To Sleep
I threatened my microwave oven this morning. Yes, that is correct, I threatened an appliance. I told an inanimate object that if it didn’t stop beeping at me I was going to tear it out of the fucking wall and throw it through the window.
Not very grown up of me, was it. But the family had long since headed out the door on their way to school so I didn’t have to worry about being a role model. And yes I was well aware and still am that this inanimate object was simply doing what it was programmed to do.
I had a bad dream.
I don’t remember what it was or why it upset me, just that it did. And unlike my kids I can’t go running to mommy and daddy to ask for a hug so that I feel better. Well, I could. I could call them and tell them that I am upset. They’d listen to me.
It doesn’t take any effort to visualize it. My abba would take the phone and tell me to stop screwing around. Those bright blue eyes of his would give off one of those piercing glares that used to stop me in my tracks. Unless I gave him a good reason beyond I had a bad dream he’d be irked and I’d understand why.
No reason for me to call early in the morning, not for this. What am I going to tell him that a monster tried to eat me, that a bad guy tried to get me. I don’t even know if that is what I dreamt about. In fact, just the thought that I would call my parents about this makes me want to go back to bed for the sole purpose of having that dream again.
Because if I had that dream again I’d kill the monster and beat that bad guy within an inch of his life. And then for good measure I’d use my superpowers to fly off to some island where I would be greeted as the savior and treated accordingly. Hey, it is a dream, I can do anything I want.
So back in the real world I ambled over to the microwave to get the cup of coffee that I left in there. It is left over from last night. Had a meeting before the basketball game and decided that I needed a big cup of Joe. Didn’t finish said cup and took it home with me.
As I have been typing it has worked its magic upon me and I am starting to feel like a sub human again. It is good. I am no longer grunting and pointing. Although I will say that looking in the mirror I look like a caveman. The beard grows at a ridiculous pace so yesterdays meeting with the razor looks like it never took place.
A torn t-shirt and torn shorts make me look like a regular Beau Brummel. Not to mention a partial black eye. If I didn’t have a conference call scheduled a short time from now I might head over to a favorite diner, Nats, if you care to know and order something greasy for breakfast. It is just that kind of day.
On the other hand the lack of grease is good. Three days of basketball and attention to my diet has yielded some distinct benefits.
My body is sore today, but in a good way. And thanks to my magic liquid I am almost awake and starting to feel like I am ready to attack the day.