Yesterday I had one goal: Be in bed sleeping by 9:30. I’ve been busier than a urinal at a rock concert lately, and have been operating on, at best, 4-6 hours a night.
So I had my plan: Pick up the girl-child from modeling camp at 9, go home, sleep.
9:30 - I’ve just crawled into bed, pulled the covers around me, and started to sleep, when the phone rings. It’s my aunt. The boy has been at her house for the last three or four days spending the night and what-not, and he needs a change of clothes. So I get up and wait for them to arrive, entertain my aunt, and finally shove them out the door at 10:45. I crawl back into bed and drift off.
11:00 - A knock on the bedroom door. My daughter doesn’t feel good, has a mild fever, and wants some comforting. I toss a couple of Tylenol her way, do the comforting father role, and finally get back to bed near midnight. I drift off, thankful that I’ll at least get 6 hours of sleep or so. 6 hours isn’t enough, but it’s something.
12:15 - Phone rings. It’s Welbywife, calling from Russia. She’s over there visiting her parents because her mom is sick. She’s just had a row with her dad, who could drive a saint to murder when he’s on his “nobody loves me” kick. She’s upset and wants to talk. We talk until 2:00. I hang up and start to drift off to blessed sleep again.
2:10 - The doorbell rings. It’s a police officer. “Mr. welby?”
“I didn’t do it, um, I mean, That’s me.”
“Sorry to disturb you sir, but your neighbor called us and said that it looked like someone was breaking into your car. Can you come out and see if anything is missing?” Sigh. “Be right out.” Something is missing: All of my CD-cases. Which is no big deal, since they’re only there because I’m too lazy to throw them away. They’re all in a box in the back seat and the person who broke in took the box. The actual CDs are in my CD-Wallet, which is inside the house. By the time the report is filled out it’s a little after 3.
5:00 - I finally got to sleep, two precious hours before the dogs start barking at something. I should worry, no? After all, my car has been broken into, maybe this is something worse. To say that I wasn’t worried is an understatement. My dogs are, for lack of a better word, idiots. Guard dogs around the world laugh at my mutt’s guarding abilities, which are non-existent.
My dogs don’t bark at strangers, don’t bark at funny noises, don’t bark at anything except, well, nothing. They are so friendly that if someone broke into my house they’d help carry out the couches and point out all of the valuable stuff. Once, in Florida, when Welbywife and I were sitting outside reading a snake crawled through the screen door, around Pandora (the female) and OVER William’s (the male) tail and proceeded to make its way towards me and the wife. It was just a rat snake, which I caught and disposed of in the woods. Netiher dog moved a muscle until I came back in the screen door. Then they started barking at bugs.
I get up, call them all sorts of nasty names and tell them to shut up, and go back to bed for another 45 minutes of sleep before getting up and going to work.
Tonight’s goal: More than 3 hours of sleep. I think I can I think I can I think I can . . .
