What About the Tough Days?
Started the year re-energized by the Holidays. I began it sick, but my spirits were up and I was ready to roll. I headed back to work, convinced I could handle a tremendous workload and I was ready to promote the new books.
Yet, a funny thing happened on the way to the promised land...I couldn't fall asleep.
I went to bed, I read from a novel, I watched part of a Seinfeld rerun, turned on my stomach, and tried to drift off. I thought of my schedule for the next day. I thought about a book signing that I agreed to do. I thought about each of my children, my wife, the dogs snoring on the floor at the foot of the bed, the wind howling outside. I thought about the upcoming football playoffs and the Democratic primaries. I thought about the Writer's strike, Britney Spears, and the war in Iraq.
I sat up and scolded myself. I ignored the clock beside me, and I stubbornly fell back into my go-to-sleep position.
That's when it happened... I began to think about the most ridiculous of things, like how many fruit roll-ups the kids had for their lunches, and why more people didn't appreciate Bruce's Human Touch album. I thought of freaking tigers at the San Francisco Zoo breaking free and chasing women and children around the park. I thought of Joe DiMaggio and what a shame it was that I didn't see him play.
Now, I looked at the clock. I had to get up early. What the hell was I doing?
I thought of Walt Disney and how he could freeze his body in death. I considered Dyan Cannon and wondered how the hell she was 71 years old now. I tried to figure out what 243X87 was, and I swore at my pillow, my blankets, and the friggen' snoring dogs.
Thankfully, I drifted off to sleep, and then the alarm rang. I headed for the front door, swearing at my stupid mind and wondering what the hell was the matter with me. I spent the whole day tired, for no good reason, but at least I know that 243X87 = 21,141 and that Dyan Cannon had a nice, long run of good looks.
Yet, a funny thing happened on the way to the promised land...I couldn't fall asleep.
I went to bed, I read from a novel, I watched part of a Seinfeld rerun, turned on my stomach, and tried to drift off. I thought of my schedule for the next day. I thought about a book signing that I agreed to do. I thought about each of my children, my wife, the dogs snoring on the floor at the foot of the bed, the wind howling outside. I thought about the upcoming football playoffs and the Democratic primaries. I thought about the Writer's strike, Britney Spears, and the war in Iraq.
I sat up and scolded myself. I ignored the clock beside me, and I stubbornly fell back into my go-to-sleep position.
That's when it happened... I began to think about the most ridiculous of things, like how many fruit roll-ups the kids had for their lunches, and why more people didn't appreciate Bruce's Human Touch album. I thought of freaking tigers at the San Francisco Zoo breaking free and chasing women and children around the park. I thought of Joe DiMaggio and what a shame it was that I didn't see him play.
Now, I looked at the clock. I had to get up early. What the hell was I doing?
I thought of Walt Disney and how he could freeze his body in death. I considered Dyan Cannon and wondered how the hell she was 71 years old now. I tried to figure out what 243X87 was, and I swore at my pillow, my blankets, and the friggen' snoring dogs.
Thankfully, I drifted off to sleep, and then the alarm rang. I headed for the front door, swearing at my stupid mind and wondering what the hell was the matter with me. I spent the whole day tired, for no good reason, but at least I know that 243X87 = 21,141 and that Dyan Cannon had a nice, long run of good looks.
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