THE HOOK’S BEDROOM: 2:30 am.
I awoke, dizzy, feverish and uncovered. Desperately, I yanked and tugged (at the covers… perverts) until the wife relented – an hour later. An hour after that, our daughter wandered in, overtime by an asthma attack. She recovered nicely – eventually – and drifted back to Morpheus’ embrace. (Incidentally, he’s the only male allowed to embrace my daughter – for now, at least.)
THE HOOK’S BEDROOM: 5 am.
I drift back to sleep.
THE HOOK’S BEDROOM: 7 am.
The alarm buzzes, shattering the morning calm. What follows are the thoughts that ran through my mind following the clarion call to work.
“If I can only reach the alarm, I’ll be good.”
“If I can only fall out of bed – quietly – I’ll be good.”
“If I can only fall down the stairs – softly – I’ll be good.”
“If I can only reach the downstairs bathroom and begin changing into my ‘civvies’, I’ll be good.”
“If I can only strip off my pajamas, get my long johns (which won’t leave my body all winter) off and put fresh boxers on without falling over before putting my long johns back on, I’ll be good.”
“Please don’t let me fall over, God. I refuse to die in my bathroom like the King of Rick ‘n Roll.”
“If I can only shave, brush, wash and do a five-point-inspection without vomiting, I’ll be good.”
“If I can only pack my lunch and walk to work with a bed leg and a feverish body without falling into a ditch, I’ll be good.”
“Wait a minute, there are no ditches on the way to work!”
“If I can only make it to my locker and change into my uniform without going down like a Redwood, I’ll be good.”
“Okay, I’m dressed like a bellman. Now if I can only act like a bellman for eleven hours, I’ll be good.”
Wish me luck, kids…