YOU KNOW WHEN it’s really late and really cold, and you’re frozen to your chair and can’t move?
Your bed is just a few feet to the left, and the doggy warmers are working hard to make the sheets warm and cozy, and all you have to do is turn off the computer and crawl into bed?
I’m having one of those nights. It’s dumb, folks. So dumb.
I did manage to get myself semi-tucked in bed. But I’m upright and typing (and mindlessly, endlessly surfing), and because of my uprightness I’m not likely to sleep any time soon.
Oh, and isn’t that just lovely. Now I need to go to the bathroom. Do you have any idea how far away the bathroom is from where I’m sitting? It’s like six feet from me. SIX FEET.
Would you dig a six-foot deep hole? No, no you wouldn’t, and if you would (or did or will be), don’t tell me, because it probably means you’ve done something bad, and I don’t want to know about it.
I don’t have to dig anything to get myself to the bathroom. But I may as well grab a shovel and start digging a hole, that’s how strenuous it feels right now to haul a moose from here to way the heck over there.
Haha, well. If I were a moose, I could just squat right here and get it over with, lickity split.
And speaking of moose (because when am I ever not), one sphincter-contracting freezer of a night when I was living in Alaska, I had to go to the bathroom. I had just crawled into the loft and turned out the lights. The bathroom was an outhouse, and it involved climbing back down the ladder, throwing on every warm thing I owned, and trudging through snow to a dark box in the woods.
It turns out I wasn’t the only one on the trail that night. Oh, to the nope. I had company: a mama moose and her two calves, and they were just standing there, between me and my rather urgent destination.
I don’t know if you know this, but don’t mess with a mama moose. Don’t even say hello. Turn around and leave, and make it quick. That’s what I did, aside from taking a few quick photos, and it worked out real swell, because here I am, inserting yet another Alaska flashback into one of my essays, and aren’t you a lucky turkey.
It’s almost Thanksgiving. Normally I’d just say bird, but tonight you’re a turkey.
And back to moose and potty.
Mounted on the side of that cabin was a huge moose rack with a bullet hole smack in the middle of the right antler. But mama and her babes seemed unconcerned and continued to stand there. So I hauled my quivering hide back inside and promptly stripped in front of the wood stove and did my business in an empty apple juice jar.
And now I can’t wait a second longer. It’s like someone’s making a waterfall sound and I suddenly must get up and go or else.
Anyway, if you’ve read this far, I have a tick story you may (or possibly not) want to read. It’s there, waiting, and I’m here, bursting and ready to get this thing over with.
I need a litter box next to the bed. I believe they’re called commodes for the human segment of the population.
G’night, folks, and sweet dreams.