Such was the case Thursday night. About halfway through the night, I must have moved just enough to send a pillow on to the nightstand, which in turn caused my drinking glass to hit a large glass piggy bank that was sitting next to the stand. At first the sound didn't register. Why would glass be shattering? After a few groggy seconds, I was able to wake up enough to see the remains of my cup shining from the carpet. I could only see a few large pieces, which meant I was in world of trouble.
The dog had been having a rough night too. Right before I went to bed, my normally calm and relaxed dog began panting heavily and pacing throughout the apartment. Occasionally he would run back to me and be glued to my side until I shooed him away. After I discovered that the cause of his hysteria was just a little moth floating around, he was banished to the bedroom, where he took up residence under the bed. The only time he sleeps there is when he is upset by something. Now, as I looked to see where the glass was, I heard the dog shuffling his way out from under the bed. He had been sleeping near the nightstand, and as he shook his coat, I was able to determine that he had been hit by the glass when I heard little shards of glass hitting the wall.
I do not wake pleasantly. I am usually a crabby, unhappy person for the first 1/2 hour after I wake up. When I am woken unexpectedly, I am even more unhappy than usual, and also dazed and confused. So there I sat in the middle of the bed. I can't even say I was thinking, I think I was just trying to process what had happened. I was not reasoning clearly, as evidenced by the fact that my first thought was, "I can clean up the mess when I wake up." My second thought, and first action, was to determine where exactly the glass was. I did this by putting my hand down on the ground and shifting my upper body weight onto that hand so I could lean over the edge of the bed. Yeah. I have a spot on my thumb where I came in contact with a shard of glass. Not my brightest move.
Still not completely coherent, it had become obvious to me that I needed to get the dog clear of the mess before he hurt himself and get the carpet cleaned up before I hurt myself. I can't really describe what I was feeling, other than to say that I was still in a fog. I had three thoughts running through my brain: 1.) You need to start cleaning up the mess. 2.) Stop, you think you're going to clean up the mess safely, but really, you're half asleep and reaching for the glass without any kind of safety measures in place. 3.) DO NOT STEP OFF THE BED!
The third thought finally jolted me out of my brain fog, and I sprang to action. For the first time ever, my dog actually listened to my voice commands and went and sat in the doorway to my bedroom. I knew I was stuck on the island in "Glass Shard Sea" since I didn't have any socks or footwear nearby, so I carefully stretched to reach my bookshelf and grabbed all my hardcovers. I threw them down to make a path of freedom to the door, to shoes, and to a vacuum cleaner. After an hour of careful cleaning, the dog, the carpet, and my room in general was free of glass. Who cares that it was 3:00 a.m., at least I was able to knock two of my "to-dos" (brush dog and vacuum room) off my list for the day.
Well, once again it is time to draw my post to a close. I am now faced with a dilemma: Sit and watch the Olympics, or get actual work done around the house. I for one am leaning towards the Olympics. I mean, seriously, what other time do I sit and watch Bob Costas tell me stories about athletes who have faced adversity and triumphed? Never. Okay, maybe every two years or so, it just feels like never. Maybe I'll compromise- maybe I will compete for gold in the floor exercise. Floor scrubbing exercise, that is.
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