Da Mihi Somnum

Once again, gentle reader, it is time for our weekly (or, with me at the helm, sometimes weekly) convivium. This week, I find myself in deep contemplation over the most fascinating effects of extreme sleep deprivation. I have come to know (in that intimate sense implied, for example, in the Authorized Version's use of the verb to know--that is, to come to know something on a deeply personal level through one's own experience of something) that one does not actually see everything that is present in the world around us unless one's senses have been enhanced by the natural processes of sleep deprivation. This is the case even with those things that directly affect our own selves. It is only as sleep deprivation truly begins to take hold that we begin to experience full reality. Allow me to explain, although Gilligan was an idiot.

I was forced (at gunpoint) last night to remain functioning far later into the night than has become customary for my ancient self, for I had tests to grade. I therefore didn't actually arrive home from my second round at the office until after 3:30 a.m. Now, in and of itself, this is not a particularly remarkable occurrence; however, this occurrence was not "in and of itself." It should have been. It could have been (at least on some ideal little world existing nowhere but in my mind). But it wasn't. As a matter of fact, after I got home last night, I had to (by which I mean "chose to") stay up until after 5:30 in the morning due to the fact that my youngest son decided it was a most smashingly marvelous night in which to lie awake all night long regaling the household and, indeed, the entire metropolitan area with the melodious rhythms of his piercing scream. I don't think I've ever heard such a broad octaval range reached by any one person since the days of Pavoratti. Oh, wait. Pavoratti is still around. Hey, maybe it's not all bad after all. Maybe I've got the next Pavoratti on my hands here. I could live with that (provided, of course, that my son remembered the horrifying nights endured by his loving parents with large cash settlements). As I was saying, my son decided 3:30 a.m. was the most perfectly suited time in which to exercise his young lungs. Since my wife deals with the little stinker all day, and since I generally sleep like the dead and so she deals with him all night, and (truth be told) since the night was pretty well shot anyway as I had to be getting up by about 5 a.m., I most generously offered to take him out of the bedroom so my wife could pretend to sleep. What a great guy. Sometimes I even amaze myself. Webster is like that, too.

Well, when I had been pacing with the little fire siren for about forty-five minutes, I believe I finally entered the state of genuine conscious awareness of all levels of reality (or at least of one extra level of reality). What prompted this little realization, you ask? At the very least, I'm sure that you now wish that you had thought to ask it. Kicking yourself now, aren't you? Anyway, what prompted this realization was the fact that for the first time in my life I saw Them. Well, They had to have at least been related to Them; maybe They were Him or Us, but at the least there was some connection there. I've seen my track record with statements like this, and I figure I'm about due for a hit one of these days, so I'll stick by my deduction. For the sake of convenience, and since no one in the office here has successfully managed (or even attempted...or even cared) to contradict my initial analysis, I will call them Little Green Devils. No, that's too long. I'll call them LGD (as in Mr. T). No, italicizing is too difficult. I'll call them simply "LGD." I wonder how many pseudo-grammarians are going to wade into this discussion in an effort to correct my punctuation and formatting. Probably none, considering I am slowly becoming more and more convinced that I am the only one foolish enough to actually stoop to reading my material. That's o.k., though. I'm not bitter. I'll just crawl back to my cry-hole for another round. Thanks a lot. Now I have to take a break. Maybe the A-Team can fill some space here.

Well, last night, as I was saying, I saw LGD for the first time, and man, were they uuuuuuggggggggglllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyy. Squat little bodies, pointed green ears, sickeningly luminescent yellow saliva, long red fangs, hairy prickles in the oddest places, black eye whites and hot pink irises. You name it, and if it's ugly, they had it. Worst of all were the thick, cracked fingernails--long and sharp, too. Something like Lloyd Christmas's toenails in Dumb and Dumber. When LGD started pouring out of the walls (literally--they came out a liquid and then solidified on the floor) and streaming towards me and my son, who was still doing his best imitation of an infant banshee, I realized it was time to take matters into my own hands. Luckily, I always keep two swords strapped to my back. Equally luckily, my wife had just shaved my head that morning, so I looked sexy, too. Equally equally luckily, my son, who is after all nine months, like all babies of his age, is fully capable of holding onto a rapidly twirling, dodging, dipping, slashing, parrying, sweeping, vacuuming, dusting, toilet cleaning maniac all by his little lonesome self. Oh, and he provided the John Williams soundtrack to the whole affair. Never have I moved so well or so fast. LGDs started losing limbs and heads left and right. They are vicious little devils (no pun intended) and put up a good fight...but not good enough for one who has earned the heron-marked blade. That was for you, Kamp. I grunted as only Monica Seles can. That helped. I know it did. At least it distracted them. In less than five seconds, I was sweating more than most people sweat in a year. The curse of being me, I guess. In less than five minutes, I had the LGD on the run. Good thing my family has me to protect them, I guess. I actually managed to escape the whole fight with only one small wound on my shin, delivered by the jagged fangs of one of the LGD, I'm sure. Or maybe it was when I cracked my shin on the end table. I forget, so I'll go with the more glorious story. Regardless, victory was mine. Barney Fife was always one of my favorites.

Just think: without sleep deprivation, this whole sinister world would have continued to go unnoticed. Maybe now the school will understand why I have to have swords strapped to my back. Maybe now I will begin to get some respect. Maybe now people will believe me when I talk about LGD. Maybe pigs will soon fly. Maybe I'll finally figure out how they became the Brady Bunch. Hey, it's possible.