I’m an early riser. Just after the sun comes up and before the birds start to sing, I start waking up.
I don’t get out of bed right away. I lie there listening to the birds and think, “Shut up, you bastards!” I may say it out loud. You’d have to ask my house mates, as I’m pretty unaware at that time of day.
Still, I lie awake, thinking my thoughts, whether I like it or not. Thoughts like: Wait a minute, Brad never paid me back that dollar I lent him in seventh grade and I better remind Jesse to get a haircut and speaking of Jesse, blah, blah, blah.
It’s bad enough to let thoughts like these malinger in my brain, but I invite them to stay, I offer them refreshing beverages, sometimes I even, and I’m a little embarrassed to say this; but sometimes I… bestow favors on them. I even thought to myself this morning: “How F!@#$ing long are you going to pet this idea! Let it go!”
At some point I do that. It’s funny how it’s hard to tell when you travel from awareness to sleep. It’s as if you wouldn’t notice the addition of an elephant having tea with a large talking broomstick on the edge of the bed and that you wouldn’t leap up and scream, “Dammit! Why did I take acid in the eighties?!” Or something along that vein.
So, anyway, I fall asleep, because I’ve been introduced to the crack of dawn (or as my friend calls it, the crack of ass,) and we didn’t get along.
About an hour or so later one of my doggie bed mates decides to powder her nose.
She is a delicate sort and is loathe to awaken me for this purpose, so she carefully walks across my body and leaps from the bed on the way to the doggie door, (I hope.)
She usually spends some time doing whatever dogs do when no one is there to report their doings, but it usually involves at least one bout of barking at whatever she feels deserves a good talking to.
She then returns to the scene of my slumber, backs up and take a running leap at the bed. Usually, she makes it on the first try, although I’ll admit the sound she makes when she just barely misses and thumps to the floor is pretty funny and I don’t have to pretend it’s not, like when people try to get in bed, barely miss and fall with a thump to the floor. In that case you have to stifle your mirth until you ask, “Are you all right?” Then your laugh until you have to tightly cross your legs.
On the completion of a successful leap, this dog carefully walks across my body and begins making a den with her nose and front paws. I’ll never know how long this takes because, similarly to the amount of licks it takes to get the center of a tootsie toll, I haven’t the patience to wait out the rocking and snuffling it takes to get my bed just right for a canine who should be sleeping under a tree, so I demand she stops and-get this-she does. (This will bear significance in a moment.)
I’m going to take this moment to confess, I allow these two of these canine individuals
to sleep in bed with me:
and I do not wash the sheets every day because god knows where they’ve been. I was bullied into this proposition by these beasts who threaten all sorts of mayhem if I do not situate them in my sleeping place.
There are some folks who may find this scandalous, but I think it’s weird that some of you don’t watch TV in bed so we’re even.
So, because my day still hasn’t started, I return to my dream. By then the talking broomstick has turned into the kid I sat with at lunch in high school and, although I didn’t find her all that fascinating in the cafeteria of my past, at this point she’s grown a large glacier on her head and, although I’m trying to ignore it, I am fascinated, but not for long, because, in due course I am usually awakened by a rolling, snorting Lhasa Apso, which is a good name for a band, but is actually a 20 something pound dog who is delighted to start her day.
I hate this about her, although, by the time she starts rolling on her back and loudly snorting, it is a reasonable time. Still, much like the birds at dawn, I become indignant. This doesn’t matter to the rolling, snorting Lhasa Apso, who remains joyous, despite my insistence that she cheers down. Bitch.
At this point, my strategy is to pretend to sleep because, as soon as the body walker dog knows I’m awake, she is delighted to see me. Delighted! I hate this. So, I silently slip out of bed thereby thwarting her happiness and starting my day.
Despite the sorrowful nature of this story, I feel that there are those of you who might feel less than sympathetic about my less that ideal situation and those people are called “not freelance writers”, otherwise known as “people who have normal jobs