Nothing like waking up to an ax and broken glass
Last night I went to bed at 11:45 due to the glycemic crash from the starch laden goodness I consumed while watching House, The Biggest Loser, and Law & Order. It was very strange coming down from the adrenaline rush of this semester. I think I likened it once to the steeplechase--hurdle after hurdle with no thought but the next hurdle, with the exception, perhaps, of the big water hazard ahead. Therefore, having absolutely nothing to read, write, study, or analyze last night was just confusing. I was unsure of myself. I even texted a friend, "Um, what do I do?" to which she responded, "I don't know. I'm not sure myself."
Of course, there are millions of things that need to be done before I leave for the weekend, but for some reason I was paralyzed last night, except for the shoveling motion of chip to mouth and the one finger remote changing reflex. My friend termed our stupor decompression, and I suppose she's right because about 20 minutes into the relaxation period, my emotions started going all whackassed.
Everything, and I mean everything, on tv was choking me up. I got choked up over House looking at Cuddy with the baby. Tears welled up with every pound lost on The Biggest Loser (WTF?). And the clincher--I even got choked up at a Verizon commercial, not when the wife was giving the husband the phone but when he turned around and saw his network behind him. What in the hell? The only things that choke me up are Rudy, Rocky, Miracle, ET, and that lion video where the lion remembers his previous human caretakers. That's about it. So why did I get choked up when the guy saw his network--it wasn't even intended to be sentimental! I'm losing it.
Shortly after an intense episode of SVU, I made it through the grueling local news to see the weather, and then I started crashing. I got horribly cold and clammy, and my body was shaking. The last time I felt like that was right after my first marathon, and this was about as intense. So I decided to hit the sack, as they say in the parlance of our times, and was surprised to see my head on the pillow before midnight.
Sadly, I was awakened at about 2am by this thunking sound. About a month ago, someone tried to beat down my door, so thunking at 2am sets off alarms in my brain. So I grab the phone with thumb on the 9 when I hear glass shattering. I peer out the window, and there is a young male figure with a ski cap on, holding an ax over his shoulder, the blade gleaming in the moonlight like teeth on an Orbit commercial. This is all happening right over the fence that divides my house from the neighbors. Luckily, my neighbor sticks his head out the now gaping hole and screams, "Richard, you moron, you just broke the window." Richard, drunk off his ass, starts screaming in that tone that only drunk off their ass people can do, "Oh Duuuude. No Way! [chortle] I totally was trying to chop the wood and I guess I got mixed up, duuuuude." Neighbor explains to Richard that he's got an early test tomorrow blah blah blah go home. richard says ok dude but doesn't comply.
The next thing I know, I hear Richard in the back yard chopping wood repeatedly. and I'm thinking to myself, "Guy with ax + drunkenness = disaster" and then I hear, Ow. OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Dude! I think I chopped my hand off". So neighbors all come out (at this point it is 3am) and it turns out he didn't chop his hand off. He just imagined that he did, and so they once again tell him to go home, not daring to come near him because he has an ax.
Ok, so at this point I'm thinking, wtf is going through this guy's head? Obviously his friends didn't invite him over. They were all asleep (from the fact that they were in their jammies with sleepy looks on their faces and girls wearing nothing but tshirts beside them (in 19 degree weather). So did the guy just get drunk at his house, pick up an ax, and come over to his frat brothers' place to start whacking away at wood (no pun intended)? So weird. Anyway, they talk him out of whacking saying it's a bit late, and he sits down on a stump in the back and says he's just gonna "collect his thoughts."
Everyone goes back inside. It's quiet. And then about 3:30, you start hearing him sing! He's loudly crooning, in a drunken slurry slowness, "Golden Slumbers" through "Carry that Weight", stopping to sing, "You only give me your funny papers" several times, each louder than the first. And then he sobs and calls the dog over, who won't come apparently because he yells, "Fine! You won't give me your funny papers either, I see. Well, I'll show you. I'll show ALL of you!" and starts whacking away again.
This continued until daybreak, and I, gentle readers, am now exhausted from no sleep.
Of course, there are millions of things that need to be done before I leave for the weekend, but for some reason I was paralyzed last night, except for the shoveling motion of chip to mouth and the one finger remote changing reflex. My friend termed our stupor decompression, and I suppose she's right because about 20 minutes into the relaxation period, my emotions started going all whackassed.
Everything, and I mean everything, on tv was choking me up. I got choked up over House looking at Cuddy with the baby. Tears welled up with every pound lost on The Biggest Loser (WTF?). And the clincher--I even got choked up at a Verizon commercial, not when the wife was giving the husband the phone but when he turned around and saw his network behind him. What in the hell? The only things that choke me up are Rudy, Rocky, Miracle, ET, and that lion video where the lion remembers his previous human caretakers. That's about it. So why did I get choked up when the guy saw his network--it wasn't even intended to be sentimental! I'm losing it.
Shortly after an intense episode of SVU, I made it through the grueling local news to see the weather, and then I started crashing. I got horribly cold and clammy, and my body was shaking. The last time I felt like that was right after my first marathon, and this was about as intense. So I decided to hit the sack, as they say in the parlance of our times, and was surprised to see my head on the pillow before midnight.
Sadly, I was awakened at about 2am by this thunking sound. About a month ago, someone tried to beat down my door, so thunking at 2am sets off alarms in my brain. So I grab the phone with thumb on the 9 when I hear glass shattering. I peer out the window, and there is a young male figure with a ski cap on, holding an ax over his shoulder, the blade gleaming in the moonlight like teeth on an Orbit commercial. This is all happening right over the fence that divides my house from the neighbors. Luckily, my neighbor sticks his head out the now gaping hole and screams, "Richard, you moron, you just broke the window." Richard, drunk off his ass, starts screaming in that tone that only drunk off their ass people can do, "Oh Duuuude. No Way! [chortle] I totally was trying to chop the wood and I guess I got mixed up, duuuuude." Neighbor explains to Richard that he's got an early test tomorrow blah blah blah go home. richard says ok dude but doesn't comply.
The next thing I know, I hear Richard in the back yard chopping wood repeatedly. and I'm thinking to myself, "Guy with ax + drunkenness = disaster" and then I hear, Ow. OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Dude! I think I chopped my hand off". So neighbors all come out (at this point it is 3am) and it turns out he didn't chop his hand off. He just imagined that he did, and so they once again tell him to go home, not daring to come near him because he has an ax.
Ok, so at this point I'm thinking, wtf is going through this guy's head? Obviously his friends didn't invite him over. They were all asleep (from the fact that they were in their jammies with sleepy looks on their faces and girls wearing nothing but tshirts beside them (in 19 degree weather). So did the guy just get drunk at his house, pick up an ax, and come over to his frat brothers' place to start whacking away at wood (no pun intended)? So weird. Anyway, they talk him out of whacking saying it's a bit late, and he sits down on a stump in the back and says he's just gonna "collect his thoughts."
Everyone goes back inside. It's quiet. And then about 3:30, you start hearing him sing! He's loudly crooning, in a drunken slurry slowness, "Golden Slumbers" through "Carry that Weight", stopping to sing, "You only give me your funny papers" several times, each louder than the first. And then he sobs and calls the dog over, who won't come apparently because he yells, "Fine! You won't give me your funny papers either, I see. Well, I'll show you. I'll show ALL of you!" and starts whacking away again.
This continued until daybreak, and I, gentle readers, am now exhausted from no sleep.
Labels: jackasses, lubbock, random post
posted by Cranky at 11:37 AM
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