My brain can't just go to bed and go to sleep.
I take it there. I try. I really do. I lay it down. I close its eyes. On our worst nights I do Yoga meditation.
But, my brain has a mind of its own.
If it won't fall asleep like any normal human beings brain, you can bet it won't let you wake up like any normal human being either. Nope. By golly, I'm gonna wake up with a nightmare!
Last night my brain took a monkey to bed. Sheesh, can you believe that? A monkey! We, my brain and I, were thoroughly entertained. It was one of those small, dark brown, energetic, irreverent monkeys. The kind you see in a zoo where a handful of them scamper on the ground, swing into trees, leap from here to there, then stop to pick cooties off each other.
First thing this wiry haired image of a primate did was swing with one hand from the tree in the front yard onto the roof of our house! Oh, boy.
Curious, as monkeys are, he plopped his shiny bottom butt next to the dormer window and peeked into our bedroom. Don't know what he saw, but it wasn't too interesting 'cause he pushed himself up with his long arms and knuckle-walked to the very tip-top of the house, leaned his head over the edge, and took a gander into the vent of the gable end. Maybe he heard a chipmunk or a bat in there, I don't know. We have both.
Whatever it was it didn't keep his interest because he scooted around in a half circle (sitting up there on the top of
MY house), staying on the ridge line, and acted like King of the Apes just surveying his kingdom! He looked west to the trees lining White River. He scooched south checking the campground landscapes, then he turned monkey eyes east to the state preserve woods where extinction is safeguarded, and finally he swiveled to watch cars on the road leading north to wonderlands. What did monkey see? What will monkey do?
Where did monkey's mind wander? Oh, the dreams of a monkey. Wait! Stop! That monkey needs to go!
And there he goes! He bent-knee walked forward five feet, plopped down and lifted a shingle edge. What on earth? He was acting like Goodall's chimps picking parasites off each other. Oh my lands, he was pinching out stink bugs and eating 'em, ew, gross! We have gobs and gobs of stink bugs. Maybe I shouldn't be so squeamish -- just let him eat 'em. Eat 'em all, monkey! I'm sick of stink bugs. Feast! Feast away!
Monkey swings down, one hand holding as he swings along the eaves - swing, grab, switch, swing, grab, switch, swing! For 74 feet, the length of our house, he does this until he latches onto a downspout and climbs back up.
What has his interest this time? The vent pipe. Whenever stinky smells won't leave our bathroom upstairs I always wonder if there's a bird stuck in it to keep the vent pipe from venting. I'd like to see down there myself. Now, I'm wondering what does he see down there. I have to chuckle. Guess it's not as fun as sniffing monkey butts! 'Cause he's not squinting with one eye anymore. He's backed away in distaste, curling his fat monkey lips and baring yellowed teeth.
Ah, here we go. The chimney. In his eyes, its probably much like the vent pipe. He grabs the outside brick with his feet, hugs it like a monkey in a tree with his hands, leans his head over, and checks striation marks. Does monkey know about Santa Claus? This monkey in my brain probably does. My mind is laughing at monkey checking for white bits of fur fluff, and soot, and shiny clean lines leading to the chimney's bottom.
That was it! I got out my virtual broom and swung at him. Swept him clean off the roof, I did!
Monkey stuck out his tongue, leaped into the tree he'd came from, and gracefully used his prehensile tail to hang. He hung right over the coy pond and took a drink! He took a good long drink.
Oh, I'm going out of my mind. Where's that broom? I've got some more sweeping to do. He needs swept out of here. My mind needs a good sweep, too.
Strike that, my mind needs a good
SLEEP!
Heaven help me, I'm interfacing with a manifestation of my own unsleeping brain!
