2021: We…can…do…this
What the heck is that beeping sound?
(Knocks the phone off the hook, keeps banging the snooze alarm)
A voice tells me it’s my pager. My pager is black, so finding it in the dark is the needle in the haystack equivalent. A lucky smack knocks it against the wall, where it may or may not have shattered. The beeping continues. Why does anyone need a pager anymore anyway?
Who the heck is texting me at this ungodly hour of…(either 7 a.m., 1 p.m., or 1 a.m. …it looks blurry)?
Oh, no. It is 5 a.m., and my first radio interview of the New Year is with the morning man of an East Coast station. Time to pretend to sound coherent and go back to sleep. Oh no, wait, that radio interview was several years ago.
Great, happy wishes for the new year and the new decade. Thanks. Whoever you are, it is too early to talk to you.
One year the person on the telephone insisted it was 1 p.m. After explaining to them that they were on the East Coast, and that 1 p.m. EST is 10 a.m. in Los Angeles, they grew impatient. They knew how to tell time, and that it was 4 p.m. EST, hence 1 p.m. my time.
Sure, getting up and writing my column is an option. It’s a new year, and starting the year off with a flurry of brilliance might be helpful. Forget it. This column is recycled from years ago. It’s also hours late. That is what happens when people get no sleep because of stressful December football games followed by New Year’s Eve revelry.
Election 2020? The first person to talk politics gets blistered in my column … tomorrow.
Bowl games? There is DVR. Besides, does anybody care who wins the Poulan Weed Eater Bowl, the Lack of Insight.com Bowl, the Fishbowl, the RU486 Morning After Bowl, The California Metrosexual Pride Bowl, or any other game that may or may not be made up?
Speaking of the morning after, does anybody remember the David Byrne Talking Heads song from the movie “Less than Zero? (which the temperature feels like right now in rural Georgia and in some other parts of the country. No wonder I live in the insane city of LA)” The song is called “Once In A Lifetime.”
“This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. What have I done? How did I get here?”
It then occurs to me that the beeping sounds are the voices in my head telling me I am too old, even at 48, to stay out this late. Even without alcohol, exhaustion has set in.
Get out of bed? Work calls in (whenever) hours. Better rest up before my tyrant of a boss complains. Such is the life of the self-employed.
Get up now? Somehow stagger to the shower, get dressed, make it out of my condo to go … where?
The stores are closed. Maybe they are open. Too tired to find out.
My birthday is in just over a week. Time to pace myself.
Work on my website? All that takes is staggering to my couch. Oh, no. My IT guy has not finished it yet. Oh, wait, he did years ago. I clicked on the wrong site.
Go on Jdate and search for women? Not a bad idea, except it is too tiring to check their Adams Apples. This is not the year for a boyfriend, and am not sure that my eyes can tell the difference right now. Besides, Jdate is so 2014. Now it is Tinder, JSwipe and JCrush. No, wait. Those are so 2019.
Shop on eBay? No. bad idea. Buying stuff when not at full capacity is problematic. Who needs another mountain goat? Dang creature gets his horns in my hide. Not a comfy way to wake up. Calm down boy, you’ll get some straw to graze on upon my waking up.
Work on my record album? Although again, world, just because my hair is long, that does not mean my band exists. The best instrument is the triangle, because that tells me lunch is ready. Oh wait, my hair is not even that long anymore. I could work on that, although I didn’t do much. I sat. It grew.
Ahh, yes, lunch. Get up and eat something. My microwave is slow, and a five minute microwave dinner takes almost 15 minutes. Read the paper? It is cold outside my building where the stand is, and it only takes coins. Reading the paper online is tiring, and my printer is not working. At least the lifestyle section makes a great placemat for eating. Oh, wait. That stand does not exist anymore. Reading the paper online it is.
Staying in bed for only a couple more hours until (whatever the big and little hands say) would allow me to stay up all night and be totally exhausted for work tomorrow. Again, my boss is a tyrant.
Running errands … not gonna happen.
Every morning, a four word prayer starts my day. My elbows are used to try and leverage them against my bed to prop me up. Placing my alarm clock on the other side of the room failed, since ripping the cord out of the wall solved that problem.
As for the Jewish brunette who stole the covers, her voice was not a problem last night, although if she opens her trap today she will receive a more caustic reception than usual.
Oh wait, she already left. Here is a note. “Tried to wake you, but that was a losing battle. By the way, you have nothing but soda in your fridge. Talk to you soon.” oh, wait, I think that happened over a decade ago. This is 2021, not 2005.
She is a liar. There are potato chips in my fridge as well. Why they are there remains a mystery, but it saves having to remember which cabinet they are in. One-stop shopping is the way to go.
Besides, combing my hair for her was enough. Not doing it this morning, proud “retrosexual” that is me.
At least having the decency to say some morning prayers would be appropriate.
“Hey God…those people I pray for every night…yeah those people, the same ones…look after them again.”
Back to sleep, despite every attempt to wake up. The home phone is turned off, the cell is off as well, and the pager is still shattered, in addition to being disconnected years ago.
There may have been a car crash outside my building followed by 911 calls and sirens, but telling everybody to “keep it down,” solved that problem. A brief nightmare of me being late for work was averted when I realized my location to me was known if necessary.
Four televisions in the living room, and none in the bedroom. Who thought that up? Oh yeah, a television in the bedroom would promote laziness. Besides, trying to figure out which remote to use would cause me to break them all as if they were my pager.
Ok, here it is. Come on, elbows, do your stuff. Rise, young lad, rise! Awaken thy exhausted tired eyes!
Why is God shouting? Oh wait, that is my over-dramatization of God.
Time to set the alarm now to avoid missing work tomorrow. Where was it thrown? Threw it? Oh, screw it.
Ok, time for my four word prayer. It has gotten me this incredibly terribly far. Time to contemplate getting out of bed.
“We…can…do…this.”
Happy 2021 all. Except for the person who woke me up earlier. Whoever you are, I still can’t stand you, even though you are doing me a favor.
Ten hours and 16 bowl games later, there is only one thing left to do.
Time for a nap. Good riddance to Pandemic 2020. Happy 2021.
Zzzzz.
eric