Thursday, January 14, 2010

He Came In Through The Bathroom Window

Here’s my theory on all of this: The Universe is not going to bless anyone with the love of writing without blessing them with lots of things to write about. I think I got that right. It may be the Universe isn’t going to curse anyone with the love of writing without cursing them with lots of things to write about. You decide. I give you my morning.

At 5:30 AM my alarm goes off and I wander into the kitchen to make coffee, but there is no coffee. The stash in the refrigerator isn’t there. I used it, and forgot that I used it. I have no coffee. I could quit right here. This is disaster enough.
My morning sucks. I have no caffeine. How can I function without caffeine? It it even possible? Can a man call in out of coffee? Isn’t there something in Obama’s health care plan that covers this? Stop smiling, this is serious. Dammit, there wasn’t even any grounds left.
Okay, it is also twenty-seven degrees outside. I take a shower, and I close the door to the bathroom because if I don’t three dogs will fight over who gets to drink out of the shower. They like warm water, it seems. I get out of the shower, towel dry, and try to open the bathroom door. Okay, now I know what you’re thinking, and stop it. I can open a door with the best of them. I’ve opened doors for years now, and not one person has ever been injured. Really, I can do this. Turn knob left, and nothing. Turn knob right, and nothing. Lock door and nothing. Unlock door and nothing. Something inside the doorknob has died. Turn and fiddle with the lock as I might, the damn thing was not going to open.
After a brief moment of trying to jimmy the lock with a Q-tip, Great Truths arrived. I could wait until it got warmer, which meant also more light. Or I could do what had to be done right then and there. I opened the window, took the screen off, and bailed out into subfreezing temperatures totally naked. My feet froze instantly, and needless to say I didn’t have to worry about getting anything hung on the barb wire I have on the gate. Once on top of the gate, hangin out in the middle of nowhere it did dawn on me there are clothes in my gym bag, and shoes too, in the truck, right in front of me. But I was already there so I cross over into the back yard, and onto the deck, onto the back porch, and into the back door, where I was greeted by three dogs who were just freaking the hell out over someone coming in the back door.
Lucas: BARK! BARK! BARK!
Sam: IT’S A GIANT SMURF!
Bert: NO! IT’S A NA’VI!!!!

Anyway, I had to take a screw driver to get back into the bathroom. The piece that turns and causes the tang to move is tripped out. I’ve never heard of this before. So it occurs to me that writers in particular have more weirdness in their lives because they are writers. If we have to carry the burden of literature, we might as well have some fun. Not that this was fun for me, mind you, but I’m sure someone enjoyed it.

Take Care,
Mike

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