Sometimes I stay up too late, writing. I tell myself at least it’s not Facebook and that gives me a righteous few minutes but it is late at night and my face will bear testimony to it tomorrow. And what can I tell my co-workers? “Yeah, stayed up real late. Writing and shit, you know. Real cool stuff.” No, I mean – no.
Ever stay up way too late and look like a panda the next day? I texted Elsa.
I could stay up all night writing just to not face the idea of him. The fact of him is unavoidable and once it – him – has presented itself I calm, suddenly, because I’m always calm in a storm. I’ve weathered all sorts of crises with an even pulse and a sane mind. Crazy doesn’t scare me. Scars don’t bother me. But the idea of him . . . pricks me, uncomfortably. I can’t define anything about either of us when we’re in the same room except that he is a heartless bastard, who is madly in love with me, and it isn’t glamorous and I never thought it would be.
“Good morning!” I chirped, because I always chirp – more so when I’m tired or unhappy or terribly ill again, defying all logic. Shane made his usual mad rush for the door and I let my head roll back on my shoulders. I was tired. I’d had fifteen minutes of sleep.
I heard the door open, but suddenly I realized I hadn’t heard it close. I tilted my head to see him squeezing the door handle, looking at me. “Are you waiting for me to tease you?” He coloured deeply, said nothing, looked down. “I’m too tired to tease you. Have a good day at work and see you later.” He smiled with unexpected cheer and nodded enthusiastically.
He must think I’m some rare sort of crazy, I thought. Were he not so lonely, so obviously lonely, he’d object, or indulge the secret desire of his heart to pepper spray me.
I’m so awake, so thoroughly awake, that I could lie here all night without sleep and still go to work in the morning.
The kids love a sleep-deprived teacher; I invent things like Mr. Sleepy Antelope – which is really just a reenactment of the hobo in orange pants who is continually drunk and sometimes forgets we have all seen him walking and wears a sign about being a paralyzed vet. Mr. Sleepy Antelope falls asleep in rather inconvenient places, has a distinctive walk and a craving for cheap waffles. Of course he instills valuable lessons about personal space, voice modulation and going to sleep at the proper times so you don’t walk like a – well, you know.
I think lightening just hit my neighbor’s car. It isn’t even raining.