There was once a man who had no time. His life was consumed by his career, his school, and his duties as a man. His desire to fix things interfered with his desire to have fun. His refusal to ask for help only increased his time lost. By utilizing wiki-hows and YouTube tutorials, he was able to do anything, but where does the time go? Or does time stay while he goes?
One day that man had a slow night at work. He had no classes to attend, or work to be done. That man was me. Which explains why I am here wasting time for my future self to indulge in my ignorant younger-self’s rants and laugh in wonder at my ideologies.
It is time for another issue of Shit My Fiancee Says! Actually this came from my wife, but you can’t just change the name of a most beloved recurring segment. Hopefully you’ll get a kick out of this old man 😉
Anne deeply slumbers, snoring annoyingly. The drool forms a perfect tear shape at the tip of her protruding tongue. With every snore, her tongue wiggles in a sine-wave like formation while the spit tear impossibly clings to the edge. Her body is positioned in such a way that would make a chalk outline jealous. I am up past my bedtime as a grown man is allowed to do (Anne!) playing Red Dead Redemption very quietly when…. she speaks:
“She’s just standing by it. Just standing.”
Me: “By the fire?”
She must have misheard me since she replies “She’s there just standing alone by the…. farm?” But she goes on, “No one else but her on the farm.”
Anne’s imagination must be running wild, with vivid pictures dancing like sugar plums for only her to see. Her voice changes to a dramatic, story-telling tone.
“She just stands there… by the fire. But then she is reading the book and Pinocchio is there, but you hear it from *his side of the story*” The last bit spoken in a poor attempt (or amazing attempt for a sleeping person) to imitate a movie voice over guy.
“Night of the living dummy. Night of the living dummy is what it is.”
Quite a different vision of the classic Pinocchio that we all know and love. But maybe she’s right. Maybe her meditative sleep has the power to show her the truth. Maybe she is trying to warn all the wooden marionette owners to beware. Maybe she is the receptacle of some forsaken wisdom?! She had passed out from one too many shots that night, so probably not.
Sleep tight, ants.
A Dime A Dozen: A Day in the Life of an Ant 