I suppose I must tell you that in the wee, small hours of the morning a couple of nights ago, as Sunday slowly turned into Monday, I did something I haven’t done since I was about four years old.
I did not wet the bed. I did that until I was ten.
No, it was something else entirely.
It did involve the bed, though.
Before your naughty mind goes off in a salacious direction, I will tell you straightway.
I fell out of bed.
Rolled right off the edge.
Ker-thump.
The dog did walk over (rather nonchalantly, I thought) to see what had happened.
I’m fine. Nothing was bruised but my ego. I picked myself up, put myself back into bed, and went back to sleep.
Since then, though, I have begun looking at life a little differently.
I have to face it, I am getting old.
I wonder what other surprises await me in the time I have left.
There’s nothing like something that goes bump in the night, especially when it’s you, to give a person a new perspective.
If you’re having problems of your own in the wee, small hours of the morning, maybe a little Frank Sinatra (3:02) or a little Julie London (2:59) or even a time of quiet retrospection (4:27) will help.
Then again, maybe not.
Hello, world! This blog began on September 28, 2007, and so far nobody has come looking for me with tar and feathers.
On my honor, I will do my best not to bore you. All comments are welcome
as long as your discourse is civil and your language is not blue.
Happy reading, and come back often!
And whether my cup is half full or half empty, fill my cup, Lord.
Copyright 2007 - 2025 by Robert H.Brague
Showing posts with label falling out of bed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label falling out of bed. Show all posts
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