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Friday, September 29, 2006

Rocket Assisted Waking-Up

My wife and I are both very busy people. So busy, that a full day’s work is not enough for us. So we continue our activities during the night. I, for instance, work on my coming acting career. At the moment I’m learning how to really get into a character. I started with simple things, such as chain-saws and gradually moved to more complex real characters such as grizzly-bears. If I continue at this pace, in a couple of weeks I will be able to play the most perfect ‘snoring man’ that you’ve ever seen (or rather, heared). You can imagine what concentration this demands, it’s really tiring.

Mrs. Bartlog on the other hand ponders. She can lay awake half of the night thinking about things, or rather worrying about things. By the time the sun thinks about lifting its head over the horizon, she has convinced herself that things are getting out of hand and that action should be taken now. So the moment I tentatively open one eye, or just twitch it during my sleep, she gives her analysis of the situation and explains what we have to do right away, in a load and agitated voice.

The effect on me is absolutely startling. It’s like reaching out of bed with a sleepy head for your slippers, only to notice that somehow your feet got strapped to two patriot missiles that blast off in different directions. Normally it takes me an hour or so to really be counted among the living, but every time she does this I cling to the ceiling.

We’re virtually bankrupt’, she shouted this morning in a panicky voice. ‘We have loads of bills to pay, I have to save money to pay my taxes next year and we’ll have to pay the insurance for the car next year in May!

I mumble some calming words, but she’s not nearly finished.

We can’t spend anymore on the house! If we’ve spent all the money for the month, you’ll just have to postpone things until later!

Wait a minute! She was the one that decided that I should refurbish 6 rooms before the end of the year! And I was the one who said a while ago that we should slow things down because we don’t have the necessary time or budget. So why is she yelling at me?

I unfasten the missiles, put on my slippers and stumble down the stairs. Honestly, there should be a law against some female practices so early in the morning. And why is my throat so dry? It feels like I’ve been shouting all night.

Posted by Bart at 9:49 PM
Categories: Miscellaneous

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