2018-03-12 / Columns

IT’S JUST ME

Getting a good night’s sleep is very important
KLONIE JORDAN — Executive Editor

I like to think that I’m a reasonably intelligent fellow, that I can pretty much figure things out.

Oh, I might get tricked every now and again, especially when I’m sleepy. If I’m sleepy, as in “I haven’t slept for 36 or more hours,” it’s entirely possible that you could pull a fast one over on me, or I might, unbeknownst to me, pull a fast one over on myself.

For example, one night last summer as I was getting ready for bed, Jordie, my wire-haired terrier, wanted to go outside. It was late and I was so tired I could barely stand up, but I managed to stagger over to the door, open it and let him out. I couldn’t go to bed until he came back in and I was in no condition to stand there for 15 or 20 minutes while he barked at squirrels or sniffed around on the ground for whatever dogs sniff around on the ground for (I’m hoping it’s gold and that one day he will sniff out a huge vein of it in my back yard and come back into the house with a large nugget in his mouth, drop it at my feet and we move into the 10-bedroom, 11-bath mansion the next week. I don’t need a house that big but I would buy it anyway so folks will look at it and go, “Wow, that fellow who lives there must be somebody important,” which won’t be true because that fellow who lives there actually would have just been waiting at the door one night when his dog fetched some gold).

Anyway, Jordie was out there lost in his canine exploits and I was leaning against the doorframe looking like a cast member of The Walking Dead.

It was pretty evident that what I needed to do in this particular instance was just sit down. I mean, come on, there was a sofa and a love seat right there behind me, but instead, for some reason I stepped out onto the patio and noticed it was pretty warm outside. There was a metal patio chair there; the kind that reclines, so I slid that bad boy back into near-horizontal position and stretched out on it, this even though there were no cushions or other form of padding on the chair.

“I’ll just stretch out here for a minute or two until he comes back to the door,” I told myself.

That’s the last thing I remember before I woke up and discovered it was no longer dark outside. The sun was shining and the sounds of morning were all around me. I wasn’t quite sure yet if this was a dream or if there had been some form of physical confrontation, perhaps with aliens.

I slowly started moving around and began to recognize the surroundings. I checked all my joints and limbs and nothing was broken. If there had been a struggle, I had prevailed. Take that, you aliens.

My stirring woke up Jordie, who has curled up against my back. He responded with his patented half-whimper that he usually incorporates to greet the mornings. He’s like me. He’s not a morning person either; or in this case a “morning dog.”

As my thought patterns and memory synapses began to energize, I suddenly became aware that I had spent the night out there on that cushion-less piece of patio furniture.

“Wow,” I said to myself, “I must have really been out of it.”

What’s the reason for this mind-numbing, boring, seemingly pointless story, you ask?

Well, first of all, if you’ve read this far, thank you so much. And second of all, when I came to that new 3-way stop at Pacolet Highway and Oneal Street the other morning, I couldn’t help but remember how tired I was on the night I’ve just described. I began to try and figure out what in the world went wrong when someone or perhaps a group of persons decided it would be a grand idea to make that a 3-way stop.

Actually, I didn’t begin to try and figure it out on that day. The fact is I’ve been trying to figure it out since the first day I learned of it. Remember when I said I thought I was a relatively intelligent fellow who could figure things out? Well, this is one that I can’t.

The best I can figure is that when they (whoever “they” are) met and decided to make this traffic change, they must have been extremely tired, perhaps even to the point of exhaustion, much like my fatigue factor was the night I slept on the patio chair. They needed to make a decision and, in their heavily sleepy condition, this is the best they could come up with.

It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. So the moral of this story, if it has one, is to make sure you get a good night’s sleep every night, or at least make sure your patio furniture has cushions on them.

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