I’m losing the battle with the cricket in my bedroom.
Forty five minutes ago, I snuggled down into bed, ecstatic over the fact that I went to bed on time with enough scheduled sleep hours to give me a solid eight hours sleep before early morning seminary.
Five minutes later, the cricket started chirping. And chirping. And chirping.
I turned on the light to hunt him down, as I am no stranger to crickets-disturbing-my-peaceful-slumber manslaughter. Usually, when I turn on the light, the cricket stops chirping, so I have to follow my ears in the dark and then go in for a surprise attack. This time, my ears led me straight to my window. I opened the window and heard it even more clearly. Now, I am convinced that the cricket is somehow throwing his voice, because I am sure a cricket chirping outside my closed bedroom door would not be this loud (I am terrified of the very notion of sleeping with my bedroom windows open… just so we know. I’d rather sleep in a pool of my own sweat than open a window and let some fresh air in). The cricket keeps chirping; I whack my book, shoe, and remote control around aimlessly in hopes of distracting him. He stops chirping. I go to bed.
Five minutes later, he starts chirping again. And chirping. And chirping.
Repeat that scenario five times.
During those five repeats, I killed a fly. And a spider. And a cricket. I thought it was THE cricket but it was probably THE cricket’s daughter, because I appear to have angered him. I start contemplating the idea of creeping upstairs and sleeping in the guest room, but that would be admitting defeat. The cricket would slowly take over. He needs a home, but I need sleep. I need it. Seven hours is not sufficient for my mental health. I need eight.
At this point, I make my way into the living room and begin blogging, with cricket noises ringing in my ears. A good pair of ear plugs would do the trick, but a) I don’t have any. B) That would be fixing the symptom and not the problem.
So I just blog. And blog. And blog. Not willing to accept defeat, but unable to sleep in a noise infested room, I sit in the TV room in my underwear contemplating the fact that my week is not getting off to a great start. I think that recliner chair in the TV room looks comfy.
You win Cricket. You win. I will continue my battle with you tomorrow eve. Tomorrow day, when I am yawning my way through seminary, therapy, and patient visits, I hope you’re satisfied with yourself. I truly do.