The universe has a very funny way of making me do things. I read in a book that by looking at the things in nature, we can perceive even the messages of God; for the smaller stuff, the messages are hurled at you with the velocity of an F1 racer on a straight stretch of road.
This morning is a prime example. I've always had the hardest time sleeping (due either to insomnia or a mild case of asthma-induced sleep apnea), and last night, it took me a record of EIGHT HOURS to fall asleep. So yes, I technically fell asleep when the alarm went off at 8:33 A.M. (don't ask, I keep weird alarm hours). Thank the gods that my shift was on at two in the afternoon.
And then, at exactly 1:24 in the afternoon, just as I was on that edge teetering between dream (I was, I think, cooking pasta in front of a multitudinous throng in that dream), and waking, reality decides to butt in and kick me out of the pasta festivities by pulling the plug on the electric current that keeps the little apartment house I - and several other people - call home oiled and running. Simply said, we had a power outage.
Now, I live in a godforsaken rock called the Philippines that is described in most encyclopedias as a tropical country. What that really means is that when it rains here, it pours like God's own piss, and when it's hot, it's hotter than a barbecue in the depths of hell since the precipitate level here is higher than the body odor of all the people in the world combined (thankfully, it isn't as foul-smelling). So when you have a power outage in the middle of the afternoon when the sun is higher than a crack junkie, you can bet your bunions that it's going to be hot, hot, hot. And a minute in bed in this sweltering heat is like a minute on a frying pan except that you're sweating and not cooking, so you're better off moving around.
And that, ladies and germs, is how the Universe tells Martin Cruz to Get His Fat Ass Out of Bed.
And just so you know, I'm keeping count. The tally so far is:
Universe = 1X100
Martin Cruz = 0
This morning is a prime example. I've always had the hardest time sleeping (due either to insomnia or a mild case of asthma-induced sleep apnea), and last night, it took me a record of EIGHT HOURS to fall asleep. So yes, I technically fell asleep when the alarm went off at 8:33 A.M. (don't ask, I keep weird alarm hours). Thank the gods that my shift was on at two in the afternoon.
And then, at exactly 1:24 in the afternoon, just as I was on that edge teetering between dream (I was, I think, cooking pasta in front of a multitudinous throng in that dream), and waking, reality decides to butt in and kick me out of the pasta festivities by pulling the plug on the electric current that keeps the little apartment house I - and several other people - call home oiled and running. Simply said, we had a power outage.
Now, I live in a godforsaken rock called the Philippines that is described in most encyclopedias as a tropical country. What that really means is that when it rains here, it pours like God's own piss, and when it's hot, it's hotter than a barbecue in the depths of hell since the precipitate level here is higher than the body odor of all the people in the world combined (thankfully, it isn't as foul-smelling). So when you have a power outage in the middle of the afternoon when the sun is higher than a crack junkie, you can bet your bunions that it's going to be hot, hot, hot. And a minute in bed in this sweltering heat is like a minute on a frying pan except that you're sweating and not cooking, so you're better off moving around.
And that, ladies and germs, is how the Universe tells Martin Cruz to Get His Fat Ass Out of Bed.
And just so you know, I'm keeping count. The tally so far is:
Universe = 1X100
Martin Cruz = 0