It’s pretty late but I’m still up. Most of you are sleeping, I’m sure. I’m still up thanks to my continuing animosity towards sleep. Sleep doesn’t treat me right. Sleep isn’t my friend. For most people, sleep comes along and brings them slumber but, for me, it’s a different story.
Tonight has been the return of the “voices” for me. Voices deep in my head and tonight, they’s a’talkin’. As usual, of course, they’re speaking some language that was never offered in high school or any college I visited, read about, or attended. You’d think if they were going to talk so loudly, they’d speak English, but they don’t. And, damn, do they yell!
Now, they’re only yelling once every half hour or so, so it’s not that bad – but when you hear voices yelling at you inside your head, once every half hour or so is bad enough.
They get so loud, I can’t really do anything. It’ll be fortunate if this entry is readable and, if so, hosanna in the highest about that. (This is America, where religion is mandated in our blogs, so…)
Anyway, I was fortunately enough to have a show to watch. Vicky had tivo’ed (he said, using it as a verb) the Independence Day holiday’s Prairie Home Companion Special for me so I got to stay up and watch that. (“Go to”???) I’m a sucker for Garrison Keillor’s show and I love seeing it, not just listening to it, so I enjoyed it greatly.
Now, Vicky’s doing great after her surgery. She’s up and around and doing everything you’d imagine a woman doing… except… well… And, of course, once we got married that pretty much stopped anyway but a full stop is hard to take. I hear we should get some gas in the engine by August but bits of anatomy could drop off by then…
I leaned over to my poor, suffering bride – suffering from this pain in her back – yesterday and asked if I could kiss her. Torrid romantic that she is, she looked thoughtful for a minute and replied with all the lust and verve of a woman hopelessly in love, “I guess.”
I love that pain in the ass.
Anyway, so I’m watching TV tonight. One of Keillor’s guests is Meryl Streep. Now, I must confess that, being an American male has meant a great under appreciation for all things Streep. I liked “Out of Africa” for its soundtrack. I love “Defending Your Life” because it’s an Albert Brooks film. I love “Manhatten” because it’s a Woody Allen film. She just can’t win.
So, she’s on the stage and I’m watching the show… and I suddenly realize how beautiful this woman is. In her 50’s, she is radiant in a very real, honest way. Granted, I don’t want to immediately tear her clothes off. She’s not that kind of woman. She’s the kind of woman you want to slow dance with under the stars, walk along the moonlight discussing Bergman films… and then, tear her clothes off.
But, as I say, things around here have been slow.
And, worse, I’m not sleeping.
So, I write this while trying to decide if I want to take a walk or… I don’t know. Lack of sleep plays hell with her eye sight and then your mind starts to wander so any kind of “doing” anything is pretty much out of the question.
Used to be, whenever this happened, I would take a large bottle of scotch and a pack of cigarettes and drink those voices into submission. But I am a married man now with duties and responsibilities… and a wife who doesn’t appreciate those shenanigans…
Hope you sleep well.
1 comment:
I'm pretty sure if you do drink a gallon of scotch and have a pack of cigs, Vicky would knock you senseless...thus leading to slumber.
I don't know how you do it. I love sleep. I require it. Without it I am one cranky girl. The nights I can't sleep, it frustrates the hell out of me and I take sleeping pills or Nyquil. But thankfully those nights are few and far between.
It sure would be nice if the voices were considerate enough to give you the lotto numbers. I mean they aren't doing anything anyhow...why not give you a little something for your troubles?
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