the squirrel's Open Salon Blog

Tonight's my first night back.

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 14:11:43 -0500

Three-plus more hours of freedom. Three-plus more hours of relative contentment and sense of purpose. At five o’clock, I’m back to the same old same old run of the mill grind. Here’s what’s on my mind as I steel myself, girding my loins, preparing for the inevitable.

We’re lifting two cocktails from another place. A good place. A place that knows its cocktails from a hole in the ground. What we call ‘lifting,’ others would call ‘theft.’ It’s a valid point. We’re re-jiggering an ingredient or two, and in one case, changing lemon to lime, to make it less than outright theft, but … it’s still theft. One cocktail is gin-based, the other whiskey. In related news, I wonder how my new ‘Squirrel Sobriety’ policy will hold up, when faced with a big long bar full of booze and a chunk of time on my hands at the end of a long, boring night. Is No Drinks At All feasible? If not, will One Drink suffice? If not, can I stop at Two Drinks? If not, does Three, Four, Five, Six Drinks eliminate me from Father of the Year contention?

I return to a streamlined menu. Gone are two appetizers, a seafood, a meat and a salad. (Sadly, the shimp pasta abomination remains. That shrimp pasta natural-law-violator shall outlive us all. It shall bury us.) There’s been a small amount of grief from a few customers as soon as they peruse the menu and don’t find the things they used to find, but what can be done, really. If more people ordered them, we wouldn’t have had to take ‘em off. So … the customers that complain shouldn’t complain to us. They should complain to the other customers who ordered everything but.

Everything in my house smells like pee. My clothes, the sofa, the rug, the bed, her clothes, his clothes, all the linens, the pantry, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom (though that smelled like pee before, so that’s nothing new. Wife-asaurus has lousy aim), even the back stairwell. That baby of ours has peed so much pee, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but … I’d almost rather smell our restaurant smell than smell the pee smell currently permeating my house.

I went to kiss Pokey’s nose just now and he punched me in the face. How’s that for a Fine How Do You Do. Punched me right in the face and he might’ve pretended he didn’t mean to, and Wife-asaurus might contend he didn’t mean to, but … I’m almost positive he meant to. Looked me square in the eye and punched. It didn’t hurt. The only thing wounded was my ever-fragile pride. But apparently I let out a little ‘Oof’ upon being struck.

Some moron (Jimmy) had the bright idea to put Alan on the schedule tonight, even though he hasn’t worked a Tuesday for us in … many a moon. Some crap bout us being closed on Thursday so Alan needs to make up the money somehow and Laura wanted to get laid or some crap like that so now I gotta stand there listening to Alan tell me the whole entire backstory of the present he bought for Pokey. (It really was the best present. One of those play mat things for when Pokey’s gotta have his Tummy Time. I’m grateful for the present. It’s so awesome, Wife-asaurus has caught me playing with it, spinning this little spinner thing it has and looking in this little mirror it has clipped to the side of it. I’d just really rather not have to listen to him go on and on and on and on bout it. Only Alan could turn the best present into a tale so boring and excruciating, it makes me wanna violate my Squirrel Sobriety policy before six o’clock on a weeknight.)

Reason I love Rudy, Number 512: I heard from Jimmy that David’s been calling my kid ‘Ugly Kid’ and then also, in damn near the same breath, saying he’s the father. That’s not anything over which I’m gonna get worked up. If I can brush off his ‘Let me shove a fire extinguisher up your butt’ jokes, an ugly Pokey parentage joke or two won’t slow me down. (Unless he keeps it up for more than … a day or two. Then he and I will have a little chat.) But, the reason I love Rudy is, he heard David joking and told David to shut the fuck up (in Mexican, of course). David continued, Rudy got in his face and David backed down. (The only one who might be stronger than Rudy is Nando, and it’s possible even Nando isn’t. Before I die, I will figure out a way to get ‘em to fight, so I can see, once and for all, quien es mas macho.) That’s why I love Rudy. One reason I do, anyway.

Thursday is indeed Thanksgiving. I won’t list all I have for which I should be thankful (the list will either be so short it depresses me or so long it shames me for being unthankful until I thought out a proper list) but I am looking forward to the day. It’ll be her, Pokey and me. Just the three of us. Normally, we go all the way out to some boondocks suburb to visit with her extended family, but not this year. This year, just this one time, we get to stay home, and if all goes according to plan, I won’t put on pants once. Not one time. Jammies all day. I’m gonna cook a twenty pound turkey (and eat it for days), stuffing, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, rolls, gravy, this cranberry thing that looks awful but tastes good, and these pumpkin ice cream squares. A day’s worth of football, then at seven, the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to Thursday. If Pokey weren’t here, I woulda been stuck on my best behavior, in front of a buncha in-laws. It’s all cause of you, Pokey, so … thanks, Pokey.

Let's go, Pokey.

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 16:11:43 -0500

Okay. Let’s see. Clean diapers, fresh outfit? Check. Spare diapers, wipes and outfit in shoulder bag? Check. You, Pokey, strapped snug in carseat, with blankets to keep you warm? Check. Carseat snapped to stroller thing? Check. Bright, sunny, brisk Friday? Check. We’re all set.

Now let’s go flirt with Hot Moms.

Let’s get right out there to where the Hot Moms are and show ‘em what we’re made of, okay? Your diaper’s still clean, isn’t it? It was like five minutes ago, but boy can it sure ever change quick. Change as quick as you can cross your eyes and grunt and punch the air with your fists, that’s for sure. Fore I go, better be sure it’s still ...

Ah. Good. The stripe thing isn’t green, it’s yellow. (Though you’d think the stripe would become yellow, not begin yellow. The diaper people did not think this through.) Which means we’re ready to get out there to Hot Mom Park and flirt with Hot Moms, even though I haven’t flirted in a while.

I’m pretty sure it’s still the same, flirting. Pretty sure it still involves talking, some wit, some charm, a bit of lingering eye contact and a whole helluva lotta luck. I’m rusty, but how much can flirting have changed in … shit, it’s been a while.

Wow. That’s depressing. I just got depressed. How long it’s been.

We’re moving away from that thought, for the nonce. Happier thoughts now, ones that don’t involve the decided lack of flirting in daddy’s sad little – you know what? I bet with you on my side, you as an ally (or weapon, if you prefer), I’ll be flirting like a pro. (I’ve been trying to think of an upside to being a dad, and I mighta just found it.) These unsuspecting Hot Moms will see me approaching, stroller in front of me, and they’ll think, ‘Oh, sure, big deal, this guy’s got a kid, big whoop, kid’s prolly as goofy looking as his dad.’ As they peer round the hood part of the stroller to check you out, their expectations will be so low, no one could guess their expectations could go any lower.

At which point, Advantage (Squirrel).

Yeah, buddy, they will take one look at you and their opinion of me will skyrocket, kid. It will skyrocket. All my flaws will seem to matter less. You mask a lotta flaws, kid, what with your chubby cheeks, your blue eyes, your slightly-cleft chin, the way you grumble in your sleep, and I’m told women find your grumpy ‘I do not have what I want though I do not know what I want I only know I don’t have it’ face quite irresistible.

You know Cheryl? That woman you met the other day? She wants to kidnap you and I don’t think she was kidding. You know Laura? That woman you met when you met Cheryl? If I’m not mistaken, she’s now counting the days til you reach puberty. She’s probably scratching the days off the wall like they do in prison, Pokey. I’m amazed she didn’t ask to see your willy (though I’m glad, so very glad, she didn’t).

Yep. My flaws will matter not one iota. This is gonna be good. I am not afraid of this. I’ll be up to my ass in Hot Moms. It’ll be Hot Moms Aplenty. It’ll be like pushing a tray down the rails at Hot Mom Cafeteria. I might be rusty, at first, clumsy and ham-fisted, but the important thing for me to keep in mind when flirting with the Cornucopia of Hot Moms, the Amplitude, is not to let any initial setbacks set me back. If my flirting comes out desperate or weird, cut my losses, take my leave and move onto the next one. (Cause in Hot Mom Park, there’s always a next one.) ‘Practice Makes Perfect.’ How’s my breath, is my breath okay? I’ll bring mints just in case. A big thing of mints in my pocket.

Okay? But … but … but … hold on. Before we go and do something rash like … leave the house, let’s … just to be on the safe side, I should check to make sure I didn’t leave any burners on. Okay. I didn’t. Which means we’re …

And make sure all the power strips are off. Which they are. Good. Okay. Now we can …

And the laptop’s in sleep. Is it? It is. So …

And the fridge door is closed. Yep. Closed good and tight.

And the storm windows are cracked so a little of this breeze gets in so we can air the funk of your diaper smell outta the place. (Pokey, I love you and all that entails, but Mary Mother of Pearl, you have the place smelling like diaper.) Storm windows do indeed appear to be cracked. Good.

Nothing now stands between me and Flirting with Hot Moms. And I shaved and I showered and I remembered deodorant. I am as ready as I will ever be.

We should make sure your mom’s still asleep cause she doesn’t need to know I’m out using you as Flirt Bait, and it’d be just like her to be awake with her eyes closed, listening to me talk to you, and then when I get back after all that glorious flirting and I’m in a world of trouble. So let’s just make sure.

Hear that? That sound like someone’s imitating a motorcycle that’s having trouble starting? That’s your mom snoring and it means she’s in deep sleep. She can’t fake it cause she doesn’t know what her snoring sounds like. Yeah, she’s asleep all right. So we just got the all clear. The all clear.

Unless it’s raining or about to rain or the sky threatens rain off to the west or if we turn on the t.v. and the weather guy says it might rain sometime later today. We should prolly check the Weather Channel. Then the local then online then the newspapers.

Just to be sure. Just one last little … We don’t want you to catch cold. You catch cold while I’m out flirting with Hot Moms, and of that I never will hear the end.

Oh. They're asleep.

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 17:11:57 -0500

It’s three in the afternoon and they’re down for the count, in the bedroom, with the lights out, the blinds closed and the rain and chill outside. Before she zonked, she told me what a great afternoon this would be for a nap. I said, ‘So take a nap then.’ She said, ‘Sounds like a good idea.’ That was just past two. Almost an hour ago.

I almost woke them up when I barged in there to ask her a question cause I didn’t know she was asleep. I thought she was still feeding. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have barged in there to ask her a question to which I already knew the answer. (Q: Where’s the dish soap? A: We’re out cause yours truly forgot to pick some up this morning.) I almost woke them up with the first half of the question. They both flinched and winced, I thought for sure I had woken them up but they both just … fell back, just … settled back, into-onto the mattress.

Glad I didn’t wake them up. Glad I get to see this. Glad I’m here.

She lies on her side, facing the wall. He’s on his back, spread-eagled in that baby way, with legs kinda twisted to the right a bit, both hands up around his ears. (He’s got my ears. Which is too bad. My ears, well, there’s something fucked up bout ‘em. They don’t look quite right, even though no one can exactly say why. They’re just … not quite right. He’s got ‘em. Everyone in the damn hospital said, yep, he’s got your ears, all right. Everything else on him seems to be her side of the family. If all he gets from me is my ears, he’ll be one lucky sonofabitch. I called him that once, til she told me what I was doing was calling her a bitch. I couldn’t argue with that, so that’s the last time I called him sonofabitch. Now I call him sonofagun. She can’t object to being called a gun.)

This is me, tired, by the way. This is how I am on too many hours of being awake. It’s kinda in the same neck of the woods as a hangover only without the hangover. Just … out of it and rambling and who knows what the hell’s going through my brain at any given moment.

I was like this the last few weeks fore the restaurant opened. I was like this when dad was sick and then dying. I was like this the first few weeks after she told me she was preggo. I got the worries real bad. They’ve gone away. I’m not worried, per se, anymore. I just wanna make sure nothing bad happens to them.

But yeah. This is me, tired. If I had the energy, I spose I could do some laundry or those dishes in the sink. The living room’s a disaster area and could do with a good picking-up. The changing table’s all higgledy-piggledy. Grocery list to finish cause I forgot half of it this morning, bills to pay, fantasy teams to check, emails to answer. Things to do, I got things to do. I just feel like standing here, though. Looking at them.

He just yawned real wide, then smacked his lips. He had this eye crud thing happening a few days ago. Seems to be gone now, thank god. First time we noticed that, noticed that his eyes had more or less glued shut with eye crud we both kinda …

Hah. Wow. Cool.

He just moved closer to her. He nestled into her crook and she (I’m pretty sure unawares, in her sleep) dropped her right arm down so as to shield or cradle. He did the contented-baby grumble-growl, smacked his lips again, and turned his head over to the other side. Now he’s facing her, and no longer the wall. Glad I was here to see it. (He also farted, but I’m getting used to that.)

Other things I’m getting used to are, in no particular order: getting peed on, getting pooped on, the smell of baby poop, the look of baby poop, the feel of baby poop, examining baby poop to see if it’s like the baby books say it’s sposed to be like (mustard-y), getting spit up on, getting burped on, the mouth he makes when he wants a boob and he wants a boob now, applying butt cream to someone else’s butt not just my own, what it feels like to anticipate a solid two hours of sleep, bouncing him on my lap at four in the morning hoping it’ll settle him the fuck down, seeing her, me, her parents and/or my parents in him every so often, just catching a long enough glimpse of someone else to …

She flinched. (If she was Fleegle, which she’s not, I would say she was dreaming of chasing rabbits. It was one of those flinches.) She flinched but now she’s back still again. She’s sleeping so deep, and I’d bet you dollars to donuts, it’s cause she had a nice long hot shower right after lunch. Her first shower in a couple days, and the before and after of her before and after the shower was night and day. Makes you realize showers are something one tends to take for granted even though you shouldn’t cause the recuperative, restorative qualities of a shower are …

I stayed in England for a bit.

Yep. I did. A friend in England, the countryside, and I went to stay with him for a short while. This was way back in …

At the time, his kids were like two and one. One day, his wife realized she had just enough time to squeeze in a long hot shower, and the look on her face. The look on her face. After she had gone upstairs, I turned to my friend and told him something long the lines of ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy at just the realization of a shower. Must be rough, huh. Running round after two kids. Must really cut into one’s shower time.’ I think he looked at me like he thought I was mocking her, but I wasn’t. I swear to god I wasn’t. Mighta had a mocking tone, but my intent was not to mock. I liked her a lot, and was always impressed by how she held up.

Once he figured out I was being genuine for a change, he said ‘Just you wait, my son. Just you wait.’ We were in his garden, with pints of bitter. He called me ‘my son.’ I called him ‘duchess.’ It was a thing we did, but this was … years ago. This was … at least eight years ago. Prolly longer. He still lives there, the English countryside. Dorset. Jimmy just went to visit him. Had a grand old time, by all accounts. Jimmy’s life’s still like that. Just pick up and go at a moment’s notice. Specially with all those miles he’s got. He’s got like four hundred thousand miles.

We're gonna hafta call you something else.

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 14:11:43 -0500

So we’re at Santa’s Village, right? We’re riding the ornaments, the ones that spin around the tree, me and Glen, I’m eight and he’s six, I look over and … and … and …

Hey. Listen, Pokey. You’re my kid and you’re all right and everything, but a few more like that and we’re gonna hafta call you something else sides Pokey. Okay? Cause those are some serious farts you’re farting and since technically Pokey no longer fits (seeing as though you’re no longer ‘poking’ around in the womb), we’re gonna hafta call you something else eventually so we might as well come up with something fart-related.

Like Napoleon BonaFart.

I was prepared for the fact that you were gonna foul up a ton of diapers. Poop. Pee. Sometimes both. I like to think I had a fair idea of what was in store. No one told me bout the farts though. All the farts. Wet ones, dry ones, clean ones, lumpy ones, short ones, long ones, oh the farts, so many, many farts. Where are they all coming from?

See? There you go again. Another one. You look right at me, you go still, then a little grunt issues forth, followed by the fart. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Wife-asaurus is peeling a short bit of duct tape off the roll in the other room. But I do know better. We don’t have duct tape here, and if we did, what the hell would Wife-asaurus be doing peeling it. That’s my purview. Sides, she’s taking a nap.

You like farting almost as much as your mom. Should start calling you Fartacus. Or … Gaseous Clay. Or … I dunno. We’ll think of one. Frank-farter? Nah ...

Anyway, so I look over and my dad who is your grandpa is standing along the rails and he signals to me, that I should go high as I can in the …

Another? Where are all these coming fr … oh. Oh dear. That one smelled like it brought along a friend. Oh dear. Is there something in your diaper I should know bout? I think there is. Lemme just go have a quick peek at your nether …

Huh. No. There isn’t. Dry as a bone, clean as a whistle. All you’re doing is farting. What about Gas-pacho. Does that work? Eh. Prolly not. Hafta keep thinking.

So my dad tells me to go high in the ornament. I pull the lever bar thing back, like I’m rowing a boat, like this, and we go real high, which your uncle Glen did not wanna do. He was scared of heights or something, who knows, but he is wailing like a … like a … like a …

Boy, it’s like you want to be called something else. Do you want to be called something else? Is that it? Are you clamoring for us to call you … the Rear Admiral? You want that? Cause we could. Rear Admiral or just Admiral for short. I dunno, but you’re forcing my hand with all the farting. You’re gonna be a real handful when you realize how fun farts are. Soon as you figure out farts are fun, we’re all done for.

Fart-holomew? Nah. That one’s no good.

Anyway, so I’m spinning round with Glen, high as the ornaments will go, he’s wailing like a banshee, my dad didn’t realize Glen would freak out like that, so he starts waving for me to come down, quick real quick before mom comes back, wants me to push the lever bar thing forward, but just as I am about to, I see mom coming up from the concession stand, with a tray of like lemonades or sno-cones, and she didn’t look like a happy mom’s sposed … Another? Really? Another?

I’m gonna ask the pediatrician if all this farting’s okay. I’m sure it is, but just to be sure. They sure do make you happy, though. Look how happy you look. Laying on your back, farting to your heart’s content. If the farts came with poop, we could call you Harry S. Poo-man. Too bad. Or Calvin Poo-lidge. Or Rice Poo-laf. Or …

We’re gonna hafta think of one that’s fart-related.

You know what? I should bring you in to meet Jason. Tell Jason to sit with you for an hour or so, just long enough for him to realize how serious you are bout farting. He’ll come up with a good one for you, lickety-split. He doesn’t mess around, although to hear him tell it, he’s the only one who’s ever come up with a …

Tooty-fruity? No, that’s stupid. I’m in a slump. I’ll just bring you in to Jason. Been meaning to stop by anyway. You know I’ve been off for almost two weeks now? Almost two weeks. Which is a long time. So I’ll bring you in and you’ll knock everyone’s socks off, and you’ll cut the cheese a time or two and Jason’ll come up with a nickname, or he won’t, but him trying will serve as a springboard.

How’s that. Sound like a plan? You, me, boys’ night out on the town? We’ll swing by, but we gotta go after nine. After the dinner rush, such as it is. So … mommy’ll be asleep. Just like she is now. Mommy’ll be asleep and we won’t tell mommy. We’ll get there and back fore she even realizes we’re gone. Then she’ll wake up and be none the wiser. This’ll be just the beginning of a series of great adventures mommy won’t know about, cause she doesn’t need to know bout every little …

(Ow. All right all right all right. Jesus. Scared the crap outta me.)

How long’s she been awake. Did you know she was awake? Thought she was sleeping. What happened to that. You know, you really need to tell me when your mom is sneaking up on me like that. She sure has gotten stealthy. She’s got the element of surprise on her side now. Which does not bode well for us. Does not bode well for us at all.

(zzzzz)

Mon, 9 Nov 2009 18:11:09 -0500

(zzzzz)

What’s that face. Look. Look at his face. What’s that face he’s making. It looks like he’s in pain or has … ah. I bet it’s an ‘I’m gonna poop’ face, and I bet … yep, there he goes, he’s … yep, he’s pooping, that’s poop all right, smell that? That’s his poop so now we know that’s what that face was. That face was his poop face so when his brow furrows and his eyes cross a bit and he looks like he’s trying to figure out the answer to something, that’s how we’ll know that poop is on its way. Arriving on Track Now, as my dad used to …

Huh? Okay, I’ll get the diapers.

(zzzzz)

We should defrost something, what do we have to defrost. Cassoulet? You want some cassoulet? There’s some crusty bread we could have with a big bowl of cass … or we … member that chicken thing we did? There’s tons of that left. That and a nice green salad on the side? So ... there’s an option to keep on the table, and we could also have a meal of ice cream, cause I just found a big thing of moose tra … oh, here. We could have that pot roast. Some pot roast in the freezer. Could have that and some roast vegetables and a few …

Chicken thing it is, then.

(zzzzz)

Hey. When’d your boobs get so big like that. Where was I when this development occurred. Did you know they were gonna grow like that, cause where’d those things come from. Damn. Look at ‘em. Damn.

(zzzzz)

Well, you know what, if he’s gonna pee on anyone, it might’s well be you. Least he got it on your jeans. Where it can … comingle with all the other pee that’s already there. You gotta lotta pee on your jeans, Stinkhead, lotta pee.

You want me to hold him, while you go dry his pee off your jeans? Now that I’m pretty sure he’s got no more pee to pee, I don’t mind holding him. Don’t mind holding him at …

No, I’m pretty sure that stain was there when you walked in. Pretty sure you walked in with that stain there, Stinkhead.

(zzzzz)

I had a dream where my dad was in the waiting room, pacing, and he had a coffee in his hand. Those paper cups of coffee you used to be able to get but now you gotta look for.

No, she was there too, only she was sitting. She was sitting while dad paced and I walked through these swinging doors and I told them it was a boy and it looked like him, damn near spitting image, and dad dropped the coffee. Went everywhere all over the tiles.

What time’s it, four? How long were we out. Wow. Dark out already.

(zzzzz)

I can’t believe it. You could knock me over with a feather. All the people who brought over presents, and I like Alan’s the best. Alan’s.

The world is indeed on its ass.

(zzzzz)

Where’s the log, I can’t find the log, have you seen the log?

No, I checked, it’s not there. And I gotta write down his poopy diaper fore I forget.

Yeah, just changed him and man. They aren’t kidding when they say mustard-y. I will never look at mustard in the same way again. Got on the bottom of his feet somehow and fore I realized what I was actually looking at, I wondered why he had yellow-brown feet.

Well, what happened was, I thought what I’d do was give the bassinet another try. See if I could get him to take to it. He was dead asleep but soon’s his back hit that bassinet pad he woke up then ten seconds later, he pooped all over and I mean all over.

Yeah, I don’t think he likes that bassinet very much. So, but where’s the log, cause I will forget if I don’t write it down now, the way my mind’s been so fuzzy lately. I still can’t remember what the hell I was sposed to tell Jimmy.

(zzzzz)

So when do your boobs go back to their normal size. A month? A year? A day? When.

If that’s the case, then let’s breastfeed til the kid’s applying for college. I could get used to …

Ow. Jesus. Would you rather I didn’t like looking at your great big …

Ow, all right all right all right …

(zzzzz)

Any more of that chicken thing or is it all gone? It is?

Okay, well, what else we got. We got any …

No, just something small. A nibble. Just a bit peckish, that’s all, a bit … yeah, okay, here we go. I bet this spaghetti and meatballs thought I wouldn’t see it, hiding behind the milk like that. It thought wrong.

(zzzzz)

No. No. No. I’ll be fine. I’m wide awake. He’ll be fine on my lap cause I’m wide awake and I’m not gonna fall asleep and he’ll be fine on my lap so no worries just you go get yourself a nap and I’m gonna lay here on the couch with him while you rest so you go rest now, you go rest now, you go rest now.

I’ll wake you up if I need to, but I won’t so sleep well.

Fore I forget, good job today, you did a real good job today.

Okay.

Okay, now, she’s in the bedroom, so it’s just you and me now. No one else. Just you and me. Just the two men of the household. Isn’t that nice? Two men of the household, napping on the couch? Huh? You gonna lay there on my stomach? Huh? Sound good? A bit of a lie down on my stomach? All right. Here we go.

Yeah, that’s right. Just like that. I’ll be here, on my back, but I can’t nod off with you. I gotta stay awake while your mom naps, cause she’s getting a lot less sleep than I am. she needs her sleep whenever she can get it so you and I are gonna be very quiet for a while. Hopefully an hour and a half? Can we be quiet for an hour and a half?

Let’s try.

Okay. There you go, you know what you’re doing, you know how it’s done. You nod off, you nod off, you nod off. And me? I’m gonna … I’m gonna … I’m gonna …

Well, I have no idea what the hell I’m gonna do. Who knows. The possibilities are both limitless and quite limited. So … while I’m mulling it over, the thing of what I’m gonna do, I’ll just close my eyes. Just close my eyes to have a bit of a think.

Just close my eyes. Lightly close them to see how relaxing it is. Oh. It’s … it’s very relaxing. Wow. This is very … But I won’t sleep. I won’t sleep. I will not sleep. I …

(zzzzz)