Yesterdays

Upstairs All-Night Party

Many yesterdays move about — talking, laughing I’m trying to sleep

It’s two in the morning and the guys upstairs are having a party; and by “upstairs” I mean up there in the brain-loft.

Me, I’m down here trying to sleep.

Yes, the word “inconsiderate” comes very much to mind. The fact that I am not invited to my own upstairs — though I would not have accepted had I been (not at this hour, for heaven’s sake), is one thing. The other thing is that the party, the conversations, the arguments, the laughter: all clear as anything, there’ no escaping it.

“Don’t pay it any attention,” I tell myself. “It’s your attention that feeds, that breathes this ruckus,” I remind myself. But I might as well tell myself to stop breathing or to halt my heart; the upstairs has all of my attention (most of it negative, as in fed-up-ness, or pleading, as in please-please-please would you show some compassion, or if not that, then respect.

I wish my mind had a volume control, or better yet, an on/off switch. Still, despite myself, I cannot help paying the upstairs folk a lot of attention, especially now since they’re discussing me. A bunch of pros and cons and weighing in on the guy living (and trying to sleep) downstairs.

Two camps, it seems. Neither particularly polite. The camp on my side (sort of defending me) isn’t even on my side, attributing most of my screw-ups to blunders and didn’t-mean-tos. Well, that’s not very complimentary. Paints me as a perennial victim.

The other camp (in the majority, it seems) are dead certain that I’m just a useless, spineless, professional bungler reeling from one disaster to the next, not even taking the smallest time out to reflect or assess the damage-wake I always leave behind.

Well, thanks guys. Aren’t we exaggerating just a bit?

Then someone up there does a big “Shush” and voices trail off into near silence and now I’m doubly screwed. I wanted to, needed to hear, and now I can’t even do that. All I hear is agitated mumble that can be for (not likely) or against (very likely) me. What are they saying?

Thought occur to me: is this some sort of cosmic lesson? Is Gabriel (he’s my Guardian Angel) staging all of this for my benefit? Nah. I don’t think so, besides Gabriel hasn’t been around lately. I’d notice his hand in a thing like this.

Then the upper floor breaks the shush injunction and bursts out (as in explodes) into an earthquake of laughter (at my expense, is my knee-jerk reaction).

Thanks guys.

I wish I had a broom handle or something to stab at the ceiling, sending the shush-message again, but no such luck. There’s just me, my head, the soft, soft pillow and a quiet downstairs. And a raucous upstairs.

And now it’s two-thirty.

© Wolfstuff