03 October 2012

Swamp thing

Here is something everybody just has to know: anything one thinks in the middle of the night while lying in bed is completely crazy and must be discarded from one's brain pan as soon as possible. I will provide a humiliating personal example because my sister likes it when I do this.

For a long time I have wanted to visit the Heron Pond cypress swamp in the Shawnee National Forest. I had seen pictures of it and thought it looked really cool, and hiking in cool places with the kids is one of my favorite things to do.

An opportunity arose. In the shining light of this opportunity, I hazarded to look forward to it. In the middle of the night while lying in bed did I hazard to do so. Doing so, I went completely crazy.

I imagined that we were hiking in the cypress swamp, and that some unknown sick freak had released an unwanted pet caiman into it, and the caiman grew into a mighty alligator, and attacked my defenseless family. I am fairly knowledgeable about alligators, having streamed a few episodes of Swamp People, so I knew that my beloved family was done for. We could not outrun it and we could not kill it by shooting it in its one tiny vulnerable area in the back of the head (see how knowledgeable?). We would all be torn to pieces in sight of each other by an alligator in Illinois. I lay in the dark breathing heavily, heart pounding, sweating, freaking out.

Need I mention it? Alligators don't live in Illinois. Caimans don't grow up to be alligators. A swamp in Illinois after a summer of drought is about two inches deep. My brain in the dark bed in the dark night was the only sick freak I needed to worry about. We went to the cypress swamp and it was awesome.

What is it you're worried about? Did you think of it in the middle of the night while you were lying in bed? I guarantee: it is insane.

You idiot.


Cathy said...

So true, so true, so true.

pekoponian said...

I did something to my left shoulder a few years ago which still hurts. In the light of day, this is easily recognized as mechanical pain, but at three in the morning it becomes a cardiac event in my addled, sleep-deprived brain. This really hurts, I think. Should I go to the emergency room? Should I drive myself? Who would stay with the kids I'd I woke my husband? Wait, no shortness of breath. Read for a while and see if you die or something. It always turns out the same. I read when I should be sleeping and don't die.

Christina Joy said...

"anything one thinks in the middle of the night while lying in bed is completely crazy and must be discarded from one's brain pan as soon as possible."

I decided to embroider this on a pillow. But then I figured that if I tried to learn to embroider one of the twins would steal my needle and poke holes in the body of the other twin, and that the older boys would use the blood for finger paints, and that CPS would knock on my door. All of my middle of the night thoughts end with CPS knocking on my door.

Time to thread the needle.

Leah said...

"My brain in the dark bed in the dark night was the only sick freak I needed to worry about."

I just had my annual dream of the grizzly bear in my back yard, and of course all the doors and windows in my house wouldn't close all the way or lock, and my children and I were left to squeeze into closets that were useless against our horrible house guest... And, well, you've described the rest.

Glad to know I'm not the only warp brained midnight freak out here. :S

Anonymous said...

during daylight: floorboards/joists, or house beams creak, windows rattle, shrubbery knocks against the house--sweetness and light, part of the joys of home-ownership, a bit of thermal contraction/expansion, wind or some other kind of nature's naturalness.

Nighttime: at BEST rats, could be burglars, and what about those flesh-eating zombies we keep hearing about, not to mention those Frankenstein movies, well no one I know ever thinks like that, thank goodness

Untamed Shrew said...

What is it I'm worried about? At 36 weeks, you don't want to know. Then again, you already know. I try to pacify myself with hymns, but it ends up like this:

Be still, my soul, the Lord is on your side. . .

(But this baby has to come out somehow!)

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain. . .

(But this baby has to come out somehow!)

O God, forsake me not.