I love being able to wake up naturally. It’s my favorite type of sleep. To me, it feels warm; like you’ve been held in a long embrace. The world is dim and bathed in shades of gray. As I slowly raise my level of awareness, color bleeds into the room and I yawn and stretch, maybe go back to sleep a bit more.
But a few weeks ago, as I floated up towards the surface, I became aware of a voice. It seemed to be concerned, yet excited. I couldn’t make out the words at first, and even as I started to grasp the meaning of some of them, they didn’t seem to make any sense. It seemed like the voice was really concerned about the level of… fecal matter in my colon.
I had fallen asleep in my motel room with ESPN on and unfortunately it was one of those paid programming shows kicking off at 5:00 in the morning. As I came to, I realized two things.
1) Who wants to know about the amount of fecal matter left in their colon at 5:00 in the morning?
2) Who wants to know about the amount of fecal matter left in their colon… ever?
I really dislike sleeping in motels. I usually ask for a room with two beds; I can combine the two to make one halfway decent pile of pillows and blankets. The rooms sound wrong. I hear cars outside and bumps in the hallway. The heater / air-conditioner rattles when it kicks on. I miss the low moans of the distant trains going through downtown Belvidere. I like the occasional growl of the trucks using their air brakes on Route 20 that runs near our home.
And I really miss my wife.
I don’t usually touch her when I’m asleep, but there’s this warm spot on my right side that helps me go to sleep at night. She moves and the mattress shifts. And – occasionally, when neither of us has to get up with the pterodactyl shriek of our mutual alarm clocks – I wake up slowly and feel her arm laying over my side or this soft bundle of hair piled on my chest.
Compare that to waking up with Dr. Fecal-Matter, there really is no comparison.