Christmas 2008

Thank God that's over!!

Insomnia: A Christmas Tale

Christmas was coming, and she was getting fatter. Just like Jack Sprat and his portly wife, juxtapositions between herself and her spouse, ironically also named Jack, came to mind. One was his blatant morning up and at ‘em disposition which contrasted starkly to her night owl schedule—a difference now being punctuated by his radio alarm which was at that very moment belting out country music (another conflicting taste) on the nether regions of the darkened world, a.k.a, the night table on the miles-away opposite side of the bed, while he cheerfully showered. It was 5:30 a. m. for damn sakes and he had beat the alarm!

“Let’s see, I forced myself to go to bed at 1 a.m. which means I’ve had 4.5 hours of sleep, if you don’t count the half hour it took me to get into a position that was agreeable to the comfort of the pug,” she thought as she reclined in her middle-aged puffiness. “Boy, speaking of puffiness that Candice Bergen really blew up, but she’s so good on Boston Legal,” she added. “What a great show.”

In his dotage, Moses the pug snored and grunted beside her as she tried to pull the covers over her backside which stuck jauntily over the tiny wedge of bed space which he allowed her. Suddenly she was overcome by gaseous fumes. “I knew I shouldn’t have let him eat that sandwich meat!” she chastised herself as the stench of digested chicken with the promise of more to come added to her discomfort. And now it was over, the incessant thoughts began . . . as she knew they would, so she ceased to embrace her somber musings with quotation marks.

It’s just a shame. All that we women go through and then wham, we get old and turn into Mrs. Claus. I can't believe I joined a gym last week. What was I thinking? Think of something that will make you go back to sleep. What was I dreaming? Some sort of conflict of course, various animals, couldn’t find my shoes, bathroom stalls with open blinds on the doors. No think of the beach, standing on the beach. Wow, I remember when I was young, brown, and lithe. Well I think that now but since I was borderline anorexic, I didn’t enjoy it at the time. But what is thinness except the absence of fatness? Is thinness a word? Of course it is as well it should be, by gosh, by golly. Have a holly jolly Christmas this year!

Wow, only a few more weeks before Christmas. I haven’t decorated the tree much less cleaned the bathrooms. I should just get up now.

By this time the Newfoundland mix giant rescue, Bear, had wedged into the room from his cozy bed (a.k.a. the sofa, even though he has a very comfortable bed of his own) in the living room with his American Eski-beagle-whatever could he be-mo companion and hastily painted a cold nose mucus picture on her foolishly unshielded backside. Spry Jack kindly escorted him from the room. Hmm, now what was I thinking? Life goes by so fast. What will become of us? Death. Tears welled in her eyes. No, stop! Change that thought process sistah! Pretend you’re a character on the Sopranos. I think I’d be an Irish arms dealer.

When I peruse my life, it seems to be one long string of questionably relevant events, dotted with dubious accomplishments, and inundated with unforgettably embarrassing moments.

She remembered her mantra (stolen recently from a dysfunctional woman on Dr. Phil). I can do this; I can do this. Sadly it was focused on the lofty goal of falling back to sleep. It wasn’t working. “Obviously I can’t do this. What if I was dying and these were my last stupid thoughts?” she wondered, once again introducing punctuation to her mediocre meditations.

"E=MC squared!" she whispered, because she was too lazy to search out the superscript on her keyboard. Take that Stephen Hawking! But she knew it wasn’t her original formula, so small solace was attained. Poor Stephen Hawking. Sorry I thought "take that." I really don't know why I did. Well, it’s all over. I might as well rouse the sleeping pug. I suspect he’s damaged my rotator cuff from lifting him.

She removed the rest of her body from the bed and stepped into a pair of flip flops. It’s the middle of December. Why the hell am I still wearing flip flops? As she plodded into the hallway, also known as the gauntlet of canines, she finally spoke aloud, "Today is Tuesday."