I wonder how many hits I’m going to get from people Googling that question. That’s always a fun experiment. (People google some weird stuff, man. And I make up some weird titles. So, really, it only makes sense.)
I saw a comic by Sarah’s Scribbles today (hilarious, by the by, check her out. Oh-so relatable, people) that was about the different ways you wake up.
I identified with that strip on a spiritual level.
But the one that really stuck with me is the one she talked about–how you think you’ve woken up and started being productive, but then you realize you’re still dreaming. You’re just dreaming that you’re responsible.
A sad, sad lie.
(Okay, this is where I break to be annoyed that WordPress is freaking out again for no apparent reason. STOP SCROLLING TO THE TOP OF MY POST EVERY TIME I HIT ENTER. AND SAVE MY DRAFTS. Okay, rant over.)
Anyway, Sarah’s Scribbles.
That particular comment made me chuckle loudly, because I do that all the time–dream I’ve started my day, but then I wake up in a panic to realize I haven’t–but it made me very vividly recall one particular instance of this phenomenon that was just weird.
I was in the fifth grade. A little chubby, a smattering of pre-pubescent acne, and I despised waking up in the mornings. So, not much has changed. Except the pre-pubescent part.
My dad would come to wake me up in the mornings, because, though I did possess an alarm clock, I 110% forever and always would turn it off and go back to sleep.
So, this morning, I did just that. Blaring alarm off, blankets warm, pillows cushy, and I was back asleep in seconds.
Then came my father, who reminded me that I needed to get up so I could go to the bus.
If there was one thing I hated more than mornings, it was being late.
And if there was one thing I hated more than being late, it was walking to school to avoid it.
So I fully intended to wake up, for no other reason than to not miss my bus.
So, I did. I woke up, stumbled to the bathroom. I washed my face, brushed my hair, and started to brush my teeth. I lay back down on my bed for just one second, to strategize how I was going to get to the bus stop. I contemplated the various routes, trying to decide which would be most efficient.
Down the stairs … out the front door … through the gate …
“You’re going to be late! Get up!”
“I’m just figuring out how to get there … ” I muttered.
That was when I sat bolt upright in bed, realized the bus was coming in five minutes, and my face was not washed, my hair was not brushed, and I still had a bad case of morning breath.
And I facepalmed–no, not figuratively, I literally hit myself in the face in shame–because I had been planning my route to the bus stop. The bus stop was literally thirty seconds from my front door. Less than a block. Less than half a block.
If there was any sign that I was dreaming and not really awake, the fact that I was planning my route to the bus stop should have been it.
Alas, dreaming people don’t tend to realize they’re dreaming.
Long story short, I was the Usain Bolt of paranoia and hair brushing, and did get on to the bus in time. (It helps that I lived in a small town, and the bus drivers are known to be benevolent upon occasion and wait for a minute if they notice you didn’t get on.)
So, I’m not sure why I got the sudden inspiration to share than anecdote with you, and I have no idea if it was a good read, but I hope it was the latter and who knows about the former.
See you Saturday, peeples.