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The 3 a.m. report

3 min read

Once again, I’m in an abandoned shopping mall and I can’t find the men’s room. Then, I remember I haven’t been in a shopping mall since the late ’90s or early ’00s. I wake up from my recurring nightmare and head to the bathroom. After I stumble back to bed, I realize I’m wide awake at 3 a.m. Again. My brain, being the marvel that it is, decides that there’s no better time than the pre-dawn hours to excogitate on the meaning of life.

Pardon me, my sarcasm is showing.

In the middle of the night, I ruminate over a petty grievance, figure out a great punchline and proclaim the radish to be my favorite vegetable.

Side note: I like a vegetable that reminds you of its potency 10 minutes after you’ve eaten it. The radish, unlike a stalk of celery, comes back. It returns to the scene of its crunchy murder and says, “You may be finished with me, but I’m not finished with you!”

But I digress, like I do. I have no reason to be awake before the cock crows, or the radio alarm clock blares “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” at 6 in the morning. Since there are no roosters in my neighborhood, I await the staticky Cyndi Lauper wake-up call.

Added side note: Why hasn’t radio alarm clock technology evolved? My toaster oven can fry a whole chicken and bake a loaf of bread at the same time, but my F.M. radio never sounds like it’s completely tuned in.

If you think the digressions are bad now, you should all be there at 3 in the morning. The only problem is that it’s a queen-sized bed and we’re not all going to fit.

There I am, under the covers thinking, “Race car backwards is race car, and swims upside down is swims,” “Who’s the sadist that put the ‘s’ in the word lisp,” and “Who’s the other sadist who decided to name the fear of long words, hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.”

Thirty minutes later, I’ve realized the perfect sandwich requires good bread. Personally, I like a crusty, French baguette or a whole wheat multigrain.

The hour drones on and I think about times I spoke harshly to someone, and the times I forgot to thank someone for their kindness.

I am also planning the perfect comeback to something a bully said to me in third grade, or possibly just punch him back. That’s gonna make an interesting high school reunion. “You see officer, more than 40 years ago, John stole my rubber King Kong doll that I brought for show-and-tell.”

I think about taxes, budgets and vacation opportunities. My brain does its most innovative work between 3 and 4 a.m., in spite of me.

While this is going on, I am searching for the perfect sleeping position, and promising myself I will fall back asleep any minute now. Now. Maybe … now.

Then, when I fall completely asleep, I hear Cyndi singing, “I wake up in the morning light …”

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