Monday, January 29, 2007

Futility, I Dedicate This Exercise To You

I swing at the ball, and the bat gives a satisfying crack. The ball goes sailing down the correct side of the foul line. It is definitely going to float over the fence.

Then a huge (and random) gust of wind blows it right into the outfielder's mitt, giving the opposing team the win with my out.

(For those of you who don't know what is going on: baseball metaphor.)

The ball is my state of sleep. I was so so so close to absolute muzziness. Mr. Beans is both the wind and the outfielder. Just as I was reaching for the brass ring of an absolute perfect round of dream time, Mr. Beans decides he needs attention. NOW!!!!

His favorite way of letting me know is to head-butt my face. Hard. He did this about 5 times. Then he proceeded to get onto my stomach, and milk step like it was his job.

I laid in bed for a good 15 minutes, trying to will back that perfect moment of oblivion. And here I am now, typing away about it because I can't call any of you to complain.

The End.

Of Mr. Beans! Mwah hah hah hah hah!

Just kidding.


Blogger Don Quixote said...

Of course, I might feel sorry for you, but I have to say...

When you have FIVE ANIMALS in your house, how can you expect to get ANY sleep?

4:22 AM  

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the plain truth: jodi picoult
This book provided a wealth of information about the Amish community. It was wonderful.

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Books of the Future: Oooooo!



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mean girls
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drop dead gorgeous
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