It can't possibly be...
Stupid alarm.
Stupid clock.
uuuughhhh
...one of THOSE mornings.
I need a winch, a crane, and a conveyor belt.
Right away.
That's the only way I'm gonna pull off the "up-out-&-down-the-road" this morning.
My sheets are made outta Elmer's glue and my blanket's made by a division of 3M.
The Adhesive Division.
Ohhh maaaaaaaan.
I am sooo stuck...
Now that's weird.
My mind hears a snippet of a long forgotten spiritual.
"In that Great Gettin' Up Mornin', fare thee well, fare thee well..."
Huh.
Why am I remem-
Then another verse wanders through.
"Blow that trumpet, Gabriel!"
Great.
Now my groggy mind's eye sees a shimmering, gigantic angel with mammoth Dizzy-Gillespie cheeks belting out a jazz riff on a glittering, mile-long trumpet.
Suddenly a crazed robin shrieks a song right outside my bedroom window.
I'm standing upright by the bed.
Wide awake.
Yeah. Okay.
That takes care of the "up".
"Thanks, Lord."
He definitely knows what ya need when ya need it, eh?
I lean forward and my inertia takes me to the bedroom door jamb.
Leaning heavily into it, I stare across the vast carpeted desert of the Living/Dining/Computer/Family Room.
The Promised Land lies on that far, other side.
A land overflowing with the
Elixir of Knowledge.
And bacon.
"Now, Lord, would You please get me to the kitchen?"
The exodus begins.