She was born in November 1963
The day Aldous Huxley died
And her mama believed
That every man could be free
So her mama got high, high, high
Just to go back to something really quick,
It’s so sticky outside your skin feels like flypaper as I lay the sleeping bag across my balcony. I fluff my pillow, take a quick look at my neighborhood, and throw my head against my pillow for a decent nights sleep.
After five minutes of closed eyes it’s apparent that a decent nights sleep wont happen with the mosquitoes buzzing by --and landing on--my ears causing me to murmur,
“God--dammit!” as I wildly throw my arms around my wooden cage-like balcony. Then,
”OWWWW OOOOOOOH ggggggghhhhhhhhh FUCK!” I just blindingly hit my fist against my rail and now my fist is throbbing. ‘Fuck’ quickly echoed off the pond across the street and into the numerous rooms in the neighborhood. A couple bedroom lights flickered on and I held my ground by scurrying in my sleeping bad and pulling the bag over my head as quickly and quietly as possible.
I wake up shirtless because at some point in my slumber I was too hot to wear a t-shirt and, forgetting I’m sleeping on my balcony, I threw it away (and off my balcony). I sit up confused of my surroundings and notice the multiple mosquito bites on my shoulder and neck.
I stand up (still unaware of my surroundings) and pull my arms over my head and thrust my chest out above the morning traffic below for a quality stretch. This goes on for about a minute before I look around steely eyed at the parking lot and throw both hands down my shorts to “reconfigure” my junk for a good two minutes. At that time a school bus full of middle school students pull up and pick up a couple kids in front of my building. I just ignore them until the bus pulls away and I finally wake up wide eyed murmuring,
“Oh shit, what the hell am I doing?”
I immediately get very embarrassed and the need to get inside fast is flashing red in my head. I open the screen door and hop inside only to create another disaster.
My hop wasn’t high enough and tripped over the threshold and onto the side of my coffee table beating the hell out of my shin.
At this point I sit down rubbing my shin, holding back the tears of being so stupid.
Just then I looked at the clock and realized that it’s 8am.
I can still sleep for another hour.
Okay, I had to get that off my chest…. (Pardon the terrible pun.)
Next Monday is ‘blog night’ at the Saint Paul Saints game. I believe you can still purchase tickets by clicking on Ron’s blog and following the directions on his sidebar.
Tickets are $8 and include a beverage, hot dog, and a cap and it’ll be fun as shit!