|
I have a weird pet peeve. I cannot leave my closet door open even for just a little bit
when I go to bed. Last night after I lay down, wiggled around to find a good spot to nestle
comfortably so I could take a trip behind my eyelids. As soon as I started to see myself on
a fluffy cloud gazing dreamily into the velvety space filled with star dust spilling from
constellations and supernovas from nearby galaxies, in the middle of the languid tranquillity
of my being, I happened to spot the ajar closet door. I heard myself groan. I tried to tell
myself that nothing was going to leap out of there. After all, the night-light was glowing as
if a million and one fireflies were caught inside the stained glass globe. But my idiotic
subconscious of neurotic supremacy that always manages to keep its crooked finger on the button
that says, "afraid that the unknowns living in the closet would jump out if the door is left open"
phobia. I groaned for the zillionth time. Since I could not ignore the nagging feeling, I might
as well try my best to reassemble myself back to whole so I could get up to shut the darn door.
Starting from calling back my dreamy eyes that had already disappeared behind the
eyelids, I, then, slathered some starch on my bones to crisp them up, dug my way out of
the cocoon, climbed off the bed, stomped over to the closet, and pulled the door shut with
a loud bang. I marched back to bed and buried myself back down amidst the rumpled sheets
only to find my eyes were the size of goose eggs and refused to close properly.
For lack of sleep, I wondered if I have done a fine job typing up this incident coherently
. If not, oh well...
|
|
|
