Well, since nothing interesting happened yesterday (beyond the fact that Brother 2 and I finished the HH series last night, and I spent hours reading The DaVinci Code and we found a ginormous spider at work that almost ate me and two coworkers and looked it up on the internet to find that it wasn't a brown recluse afterall, but we saw the damage that brown recluses do---gaping wounds, black skin, etc.---and so when I went home and found a brown spider on my ceiling, I freaked out and beat it to death with a broom) then I am forced to bring up an old story in order to post and entertain the masses.
Some of you may be aware that up until very recently, Ambrosia and I were roommates---even room-roommates. Some of you may even be aware that there was a plastic bag problem. Let me give the details of the plastic bag issue.
Before I went to Lake Powell, I needed to go to bed early as we'd be leaving very early in the morning, and my job was to stay awake with the driver and be the backup driver. So I went to bed early, but first, I couldn't get to sleep for a very long time, and then people started calling me---people whose calls I had to take because all the calls were about the Lake Powell trip. Finally, everything was resolved by about 1:00 a.m. and I was ready to try going to sleep again. I called Brozy, who was just downstairs talking to Timi, and let her know that my plans had changed and that I was leaving later than expected, so she was under no circumstances to wake me up when she came up to the room. If I had not made this call, she would likely have thought that I had slept through my scheduled departure time and woken me up to tell me that I had accidentally overslept. By making the call, I thought that I ensured that my sleep would finally go uninterrupted the rest of the night.
I did not take into account that a plastic bag was on Ambrosia's bed. When she finally went to bed (shortly after I had *finally* fallen asleep!), the removal of the bag caused lots of noise. I could have sworn she was jumping on the thing, or pretending it was an accordion, or shaking it about in a menacing manner. Curse her and her bag!
After I got back from Lake Powell, again, there was a night that I went to sleep because I desperately needed the rest. When Brozy came to the room, if the bag wasn't on her bed, it was somewhere nearby and she made a crinkling plastic ruckuss as she tried desperately to get rid of the bag without waking me up. I lay in the darkness, trying to imagine Ambrosia's thought process ("crapcrapcrapcrapcrap!") or trying to figure out how her prolonged beating of the bag was in any way an attempt to dispose of the thing in the quickest and noiselessest way possible.
Soon before I moved out of the apartment (and this may have been what pushed me to move out hastily), Brozy was out on Friday night and I was at home reading Harry Potter. I had taken him to bed with me (even though he's under 18, I don't think that there are laws against what I did) and realized at one point that I was falling asleep. I was too weary to even reach out infront of me and turn out my reading lamp; the last information my brain absorbed was recognition (as my eyes closed involuntarily) that there was a plastic bag on Brozy's bed.
I woke up the next morning with that feeling. It's a feeling that I get when I know I've been talking in my sleep, but I'm not fully aware of what transpired (one morning, I woke up with the feeling that I may have been telling Brozy that her date didn't understand his own sex appeal in the middle of the night---and Brozy confirmed that that was exactly what I had said). When I asked Brozy if we had talked or interacted the night before in any way, she laughed and explained to me what had happened.
She came into the room to find my reading lamp on, but I was asleep. As she reached over to turn my lamp off, my eyes flickered open. She said something like, "All good children are asleep at this hour."
I said, "I saw that there was a plastic bag on your bed, so I didn't really see the point of going to sleep."
Laughing, Brozy said, "I'm glad to see that your sarcasm is in tact after ten seconds of being awake."
Ahhhh. I'll miss Brozy and her plastic bags and our midnight conversations.
2 comments:
Hahahahahaha. You basically pegged my thought process. I've decided there is basically *no* quiet way to move a plastic bag. If you touch it, look at it, or even breathe in the same room as it, it will crumple with a volume not less than that of an F7.
And if you get to missing me too much, well, maybe one of these nights when I can't sleep, I'll stop by your window and shake a plastic bag menacingly at you. Maybe it would drive off some of the mosquitos.
I wish you many plastic-bagless nights in your new home.
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