As you can imagine, I was up late enjoying the drag queen bingo on Friday night.
Well. You know. Late for me. Meaning I got home at, like, 11:00, which wooo! What happened to 1988 June? Coming home late then meant 7:00 in the morning.
But unlike 1988 June, I had to get up and go running with my running group, and once I had run my two miles obscenely early yesterday morning, the running instructor said, “How you feeling, June?” and I stupidly said, “Fine!” because then she said, “Okay, then, I’m going to challenge you.”
Can I interject? I hate challenges. You know how everyone’s resume says they want a challenging position? I don’t. Couldn’t everything just be easy? I’d like a position where I already know everything and I breeze through my day. I mean really.
So she challenges me to run up a hill. A HILL. And of course I did it, because I clearly hate myself, and who was terribly sorry she ate 394783920 fried pickles at drag queen bingo?
After having seven heart attacks and coming home and telling Marvin my jaw hurt and I was certain it was my heart about to explode, I had to get my roots done, which maybe that doesn’t sound taxing to you, but I had to be there for over three hours because, hello, I have hair.
My point is, I was ready to go to sleep last night, I’ll tell you what.
I settled all in, and I was happiness personified. I was so drifty…
Then Marvin started moving his feet.
Marvin has this thing where after he’s fallen asleep, he moves his feet around. It’s not Restless Leg Syndrome, because that is where you move your legs before you fall asleep. Once Marvin starts with the feet thing, he often progresses to jerking his entire body, every couple minutes, for the rest of the night.
I lay there, and every time I’d drift off, JERK! Marvin would move. Also, the dog was on my legs, which were cramping, and after an hour of JOLT! and being pinned under a dog, I got up and went to the other bed.
I was just nicely getting to sleep when I heard, “Where’d you GO?”
It was Marvin and his modern-dance-moves-in-his-sleep self, lording over the bed. “You were doing the jerking thing, and I could not fall asleep.”
“But it’ll be lonely in there,” said Marvin, who I knew would be back in REM in .06 seconds once he went back to bed. Which he did.
So finally, FINALLY, I fell asleep, only to hear, “Click!” …..”CLICK!”…..”Click!” I tried, OH I TRIED, to ignore it, and I could hear old Marv and Tallulah sawing logs in their “lonely” room. THEY were capable of ignoring it.
“CRAP!” I said, throwing back the covers violently.
Winston and Henry were on the built-in shelf in the hallway, taking turns playing with my iPod earbuds. One would pat at it–“CLICK!”–then the other would. I have never left my iPod out before, so this must have been a thrilling novelty.
Here is an artist’s rendering of Winston and Henry on the shelf, to give you a bit of a highly accurate visual.
I put the iPod in my jewelry box, there, which is really an old box that had powder and soap in it in 1952, and I love love love it, and could you remind me that’s where I put said iPod, because you know I will forget and not see it for the next six months.
I returned to the bed and immediately fell asleep again. Because did I mention I was tired? And had run two miles then up Mt. McKinley?
This was the loudest sound you have ever heard. It was awesome and terrible.
Guess who was at fault. And I have better pictures of Win and Hen, but I so enjoy how Francis looks like one of the scary owls from the bad forest in Wizard of Oz, here. And speaking of proportion, I have somehow made it look like you have to lose weight before you can open our refrigerator. It looks like the narrowest space on earth. Which it isn’t. Our bathroom is.
So not only was there a great and terrible crash, then there was some odd, repetitive noise I could not even describe to you. Mostly because I was too busy picturing myself gleefully beheading everyone else who lives in this dwelling. This dwelling of REMus Interruptus.
Did I mention I could still hear lonely Marvin sawing logs?
This time those dreadful churls had done something that defied all logic and reason.
They had somehow UNSCREWED the vent-y, screen-y thing underneath the shelf, torn down the filter-y thing behind that (have I mentioned I am an architect and also a heating expert? When I’m not using the Paint program, I mean), and had CRAWLED INTO IT and under the house. I am not even making this up. In fact, I am not so sure they crawled under the house so much as back into the bowels of hell from whence they came.
I had to TALK THEM INTO coming back up, put everything back together, then try not to slice them both into teensy pieces, dry them into jerky, and chew them merrily for breakfast.
Honestly. Winston was a really good cat until he met Henry. It’s like he’s joined a gang or something.
Also? My 44-year-old white self is available to tag things for YOUR gang. Give me a call, won’t you? Gang person?
I’m going to take a nap.