The Wild Wordsmith

I waited.

I waited for three-and-a-half hours.

It was okay, though, for I had a wholly enjoyable book, some music, and some people to watch.

The place? Wicker Park, outside 6 Corners, inside my car, in the driver’s seat. (Prepositions. I like them.)

The wholly enjoyable book? Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams. (Douglas Adams. I can’t get enough of him).

The music? Various CDs of mixed music. Mixed by me. Not half-bad, if I may say so myself. (Electronic music. I can’t get enough of it.)

I arrived at 0105, to pick up my SO from her job at 6 Corners in Wicker Park. She was due to be finished, but the place was very busy, and there were these two drunk guys who had a ridiculous number of wings to eat, and still wanted more. (The number was something like 86 between the two of them, though I don’t know how much the “more” was.)

She arrived at around 0335.

We drove home. More appropriately, I drove home, because I was sitting in the driver’s seat.

We arrived home around 0400. After some time awake at home, and a brownie for each of us, we went to bed around 0430.

I awoke.

At a minute past 0900, I heaved myself out of bed, as though I weighed several pounds more than I actually do (I am wholly convinced that cushions of any kind are designed to make one weigh more than one actually does, though I am not sure of why).

I enter the bathroom and grab a pill. I enter the kitchen and grab some water (in a container, of course. I do not often take part in fundamentally futile activities). I deliver the pill and the glass of water to my SO. She sits up, takes them, does the appropriate things with them, hands me the glass, and goes back to sleep. I put the glass in the kitchen, return to the bedroom, and do the same (go back to sleep).

I awoke. Again.

At around ten past 1100, my SO tiptoed into the room — though how she got out of the room was beyond me at the time — and said “special delivery!” I roll over to face her and see what it is she was talking about, just in time to witness an elbow knock a brownie off a plate, and onto my blanketed chest. In fact, I believe it was my elbow that did the deed, but I’ve no way of being sure.

“Why do you always hit me with your elbows?” She said, slightly amused as I scrambled to restore the brownie to its former position of glory and graciously accept her gift of ‘it’s time for you to be awake now.’

It’s true, though. I do often hit her with my elbows, usually in a painful way. My elbows are always getting me into trouble. They are hard, they are pointy, and they like to hit things — usually my SO, and usually either in the face (in bed), somewhere else near the face (in bed), or her knees, elbows, or other parts of her extremities (in and out of bed).

I guess my elbows must be the heaviest part of my body, for they are always sticking out or moving when I attempt to translate my body through any space. They are, apparently, my primary means of locomotion. I thought my legs were in charge of that, but I am apparently wrong. I remarked, in reply to her question, “I have repulsor-beams in my elbows, and they help me move around.” In this way, I likened myself to a Starfleet ship with warp nacelles. My elbows are warp nacelles. They are my primary means of motion through three-dimensional space, therefore they must be warp nacelles, and I must be an analogue to a Starfleet ship.

I accepted her gift, and tried to get up a few times. I remarked “I’ll be up in a minute.” She left the room.

I rolled over. I placed the brownie in front of my face to help remind myself why I was trying to be awake. My plan was not quite but almost entirely unsuccessful. That is to say it was successful enough that after a few more minutes of squabbling, I managed to get up and come write this article.

I am now awake.

Aren’t you lucky?