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© 2004-2008 Keith Ecklund

May 03, 2004

quick! someone kiss me

It seems ridiculous to play the sleeping beauty card, but I don’t know what else to do. My just a half an hour won’t hurt nap somehow turned into three hours. How could that happen? There aren’t any poison apples in the house. I don’t even like apples.

Maybe it had something to do with the divorce conversation just prior to me falling into the recliner. Those conversations are more tiring then any fairytale apple ever thought of being. I should write a children’s story where the evil witch is a divorce attorney, and every time they cackle the mailbox rattles and notarized documents magically appear. Now that would be scary.

So my normal twelve to fourteen hour work day, which I try very hard to cram into nine or ten, is now seriously behind schedule. Three hours will be hard to make up. Four hours if you count all of the stretching and yawning required to bring me back up to speed.

How does this effect you, the gentle reader? Not much at all, really, except that you will now find yourself having to wait for the tale of the 100 lb. baby. I know. You were at the edge of your seats. But come on, isn’t anticipation what stories are all about? Isn’t half the fun not knowing what comes next, or at the very least, not knowing when it will arrive?

Like . . . will I ever wake up? What if I fall asleep in my recliner one day and just never wake up? What if I just sleep and sleep and sleep? Would my body eventually shrink down really tiny so that it completely fits under the irritatingly small lap blanket? How many years of sleeping would it take before I shrunk enough for my feet to stop poking out and getting cold? And do you think someone would stop by with chapstick once in awhile, just to make sure my lips didn’t dry out?

I need to get to work! Quick! Someone kiss me!

My divorce attorney has been a strange combination of pit bull and fairy godmother. If I pay her enough money, she waves her magic notarized documents and it all goes away for a little while. Then my former husband rears his ugly head and the attorney comes out fighting. This requires a steady stream of cash, which is why I’m looking for Prince Charming. Not to marry me, mind you. I just think I’m going to need a big loan, and it’s going to take some seriously royal cash to fund the fairy godmother.

snowball on 05/04/04 at 06:08 AM

Talk about naive. I’m naive enough to believe that magic still involves rubbing a lamp and has nothing to do with money. Maybe my own eyes will open when I rub the lamp and the only relief that magically appears is a second mortgage.

The idea of a Prince Charming just around the corner sounds too good to be true. I might even go along with it for the right amount of money. But I don’t know, do glass slippers come in size 12? Oh forget it. I’m a hiking boot kind of guy. I’ll just stick with poor and make the best of it.

Keith on 05/04/04 at 06:27 AM

I’m sure this is why it’s taking so long to sell my damn flat. Every decision or instruction has to involve A Conversation. Every Conversation has to be balanced by efforts to forget The Conversation, then by further efforts to calm down from forgetting the Conversation. By that point, I’ve forgotten what it is was supposed to be said to the damn estate agent, and ringing to ask will only result in another Conversation.
Yesterday, I managed to bribe neighbours into telling me when flat viewers go round the place and what they say, rather than ring the agents, which will result in me being required to ring the ex, which will result in three day’s recovery from another damn Conversation.
I think I need magic blah blah blah nag headphones. If you can just sleep it off in three hours, I think that’s fairly good going, Keith.

Vanessa on 05/04/04 at 07:16 AM

In Yosemite, when a giant Sequoia falls over into the recliner of the forest floor for a deep, deep sleep, it rests there for thousands of years before it shrinks back into the earth to soil. Millions of people each year travel to the Mariposa Grove and pet the resting trees, carve names and dates on their sleeping bodies, snap photos, but no chap stick. Of course not all of the giant Sequoias are sleeping.

Ronda on 05/07/04 at 09:47 PM