Last evening I realized that if I started watching a movie, I would fall asleep about ten minutes in and so I actually turned the TV off. Then I snuggled my head into the pillow, pulled the soft and fluffy comforter with the satin edge right up to nose level and . . . I don’t remember any more.
I think this has something to do with a threshold I am crossing in my lifespan. I just accepted it would be wisest to admit I would drop off to sleep. I guess I’ll just sigh and adapt to this development. Gone are the days – and nights – when I would have this sort of calculation in my mind:
Okay, if I crank this stuff out at such and such arate, I should be done by 2 or 3 am. Then I can sleep until 6 am and get up. I took it for granted I would, after a few minutes of bleary-eyed grousing, be an alert and bouncy grouse.
No more. Well, I don’t think I can call this one of life’s surprises.
Now, I have to go search for the reason the sperm whale exploded on a Taiwanese street because I think I may have dozed off for a few critical minutes of explanation. Maybe I’ll spend a year of so fooling the guys here at the PBC&R Cafe about this aging thing. . . I’ll just bop over to where folks are eating their morning foldovers and ask with my really big grin – that still has teeth – if they saw the show about whale blood and guts dripping all over everything.
I should probably reconsider that.