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Ode to Tuesday’s Awakening February 2, 2016

Posted by TimTheFoolMan in Blogging.

Behold! The sound in the distance! It draws near!
Upright I sit in bed, no longer beholden to fantasies of my slumber.
I must awaken with haste!

The behemoth, I hear it. He snarls and coughs the cough of a diesel and cries with the scream of grinding gears. He approaches, even now!

Alas, I am a man of an unclean home, and he has caught me unprepared.

Arising from my bed, I search in haste for the leg coverings of the man named Levi. My slumber persists, and clouds my vision. Even in my first steps from bed, I stepped across the garment, but saw it not. I cannot be naked when the beast arrives!

Moments pass but feel as though they were mere seconds. My panic draws nigh!

When I finally discover the garment of Levi, I hear the shrill call of the beast’s regression.

“Beep!” I hear him cry. Once. Twice. Thrice!

My lower extremities are covered, but my feet are barren and unprotected!

I then find the footware of the mighty boatman. With the pace of the mighty sloth, I slide them on with nary a knot to be tied.

I am convinced that I will fail in my preparations. I am doomed.

Suddenly, I find a garment for my torso that is almost sufficient. It lacks protection from the cold for my upper extremities, but this is by design, as it is the garment of the athlete’s preparation. When the athlete prepares, he requires no sleeves.

And thus, with speed approaching a small fraction of the athlete and the grace of the beloved circus clown, I race to meet the beast. I somewhat quickly move from room to room, gathering refuse, and bidding farewell to the many things that the lady of the house had deemed suitable only for those who wish to be labeled “hoarders.”

The canine of the house fears for me, and follows me closely. Her love is evident, as is her shepherding nature. Her swift and silent movements inhibit me to the left and right when I least suspect. Only by the grace of our Lord do I escape the perils of gravity and unyielding surfaces on the ground. Twice I fear my facial features may become implanted in the infertile soil of hardwood.

Then, when all seemed lost and my failure was almost certain, I emerge from the domicile. Victory over the beast is close at hand!

Quickly I release my burdens of refuse at the crossroads of my egress and that of my neighbors’, and retreat again to the warmth and comfort of my residence. I have won the battle, and the beast may now come and consume my offering.

I am awake, but at peace and sated. The canine sits at my feet as I recline in sweet victory. The richness of my coffee exceeds that of my soul, and finally, my heart races no more. The sound of the beast is distant, and no longer threatening.

As I sit and listen, he growls and belches in his most brutish way, and discards the vessels of my refuse and waste as the drunkard discards the empty vessels of his obsession.

But then a most horrid thought comes crashing into my consciousness and floods my inner soul. “I forgot to take out the recycling!”


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