Awakeover

October 20, 2013

The speaker stood hidden behind the podium as though it were a life preserver in the perfect storm. I didn’t trust her then, to lead me to an insightful and inspiring conversion into a star-filled and more rewarding life. She quoted a book too frequently and took us off on several tangents that didn’t make any sense since I had missed the last few weeks of the series. I felt sorry, on a few occasions during the 40 minute speech, that I had wasted that time of my precious Sunday morning, missing the sun and wind and chilly day with my best friends by the lake, at the “Wicked” performance, the best brunch on the planet and/or picking up much needed trick or treat candy. Maybe my expectations are too high, maybe I could wander around a pool of acceptance and give the woman a break. After all, she is more experienced, mature, steady and popular than I. I’m not certain where I am going with all of this yet it could be BIG, the best story ever told.

Tripp is Korean, who looks like he could be anywhere from 3 to 12, is sitting at my round table, stuffing chips and little chunky delectable chocolate cookies in his mouth, in between gulps of pulpy orange juice. His father tells me the Koreans have been thriving since the 2002 World Cup and Brasil should be raking in the same success after 2014. I beg to differ and left it at that. No need to start an argument in front of Tripp and the entire congregation in the basement of the church.   

I blame my attitude on the awakeover, you know, a sleepover where the sleep never came…or rather, showed-up in wild spurts, snuggled in between strange sounds emitting from someone’s cell phone that appears to be charging but rather running out of battery time when an important meeting is to take place after work and the time and locale have not been decided upon so it is imperative the cell phone is on, charged and operating properly. The dog woke me at 3:44 to go outside and bark and snuff at some form in the yard then to take his time to urinate and who knows what else before he sauntered back while I dance in my bare feet, awaiting his return, on the lookout for the sneaky cat who is trying to get out the door. The daughter on the other side of the bed who insisted on sleeping with me instead of “alone” in the spare room complains, sighs, tosses and turns in agony of insomnia. I work at lulling her to sleep with a guided meditation, memories from our time near the ocean in Hawaii. I got exceedingly floppy but she just moaned in second-wind anguish. Nights like that make me want to stay in bed all day but I have to crawl out in the cold and take the little one to work by 6:50am. Excuse me, it’s 9:16pm and I have to go to bed.