I’m Tired, he said

Tired of everything. Tired of blogging. Tired of this life.

She wondered, if she was included in that sentence, but she didn’t wait to find out.

“I’ll be leaving you for a while”, she said while he was extending his list to the birds, the bees and the garbage collector.

I’ve run out of fingers and toes, he said, while she packed her bag. That would make….18 tireds, so far”.

Don’t you have 10 fingers and 10 toes like the rest of us, she asked while placing the suitcase by the front door, and fixing her hair in the mirror.

“You don’t know me that well, do you?” He said as he pulled off the one shoe, then the other. “And my socks, too.” he exclaimed. “I am so tired of my socks!”

And with that he went into the bedroom, oblivious to her standing there, car key in the one hand and suitcase in the other. She left without another word, slamming the door for good measure.

It was silent in her life now. No one complaining, no socks strewn about, no threats of street fights with the garbage collector.

She wanted to call him up, and see if he had calmed down and come to his senses. She waited, then called, but there was no answer. “What if….”

She played out the worst scenarios of suicidal kitchen frenzies, sock gagged stuffed animals, and, and….

She decided to go back, just to make sure that he was all right.

The apartment was filled with light, spilling out of every window and door, as if the inside was trying to get out. She cautiously walked through the door, expecting all of the angels in heaven, blowing horns and banging their tambourines.

She was met with silence. Utter and total silence. There were though stuffed animals strewn about, as if there had been a major battle, with no apparent winner in sight.

“Honey?” she asked slowly, but surely not wanting to tip the apple cart, nor upset the wingless bees flying around the many stuffed animal carcasses and holey sock piles!

“Dear” she repeated, while picking her way through the apartment, following the damaged clocks, china, and bull droppings. “Whew, who is going to clean up this mess?” she wondered aloud, when a sound came from the room directly in front of her. “Sugar Lips” she called out, as she prodded the door, wielding a nearby ax, with the word “Mama” etched in the fine Kentucky Hickory Handle.

Inside the room at last, she found what she had been looking for, and what she had feared the most. “Oh, Pickle Toes, there you are”, using her most affectionate name for the man in her life, as he sat on the bed looking like he’d lost his last friend in the world, and his friend’s brother to boot!

“I’m tired”, he said again, but didn’t follow up with an “of, a with, or an and!”

“I’m tired of being tired, and that makes me tired”, he said while speaking to the wall, not turning his head, or looking at the woman, who didn’t know who or what he had become?

“Are you also tired of me?” she asked, and then shielded her face, as if he would lash out at her!”

“No. No I am not, but I imagined that you had run off with the garbage collector, and then a frenzy came over me, and then there was no stuffed animal, who would be left to tell my tattered tale of mayhem and despair…..”

She tried to kick the remains of Mr Bear under the bed, lest he became excited once again.

“You see silly”, she said putting her hand on his shoulder, “Nothing to worry about, just lie down and get a good night’s sleep, and things will look better in the morning.” With that statement, he collapsed and went out like a light, while she just gazed upon the room around her.

I’ll just call my friends at the Waste Disposal Department and ask that they be extra quiet tomorrow on trash day, thinking to herself.

And I’ll have to cancel my secret date with Barney, the Trash Man, otherwise things might just get out of hand, again…..

Now. I am tired. So tired…….




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