Not knowing the cosmic joke stinks
At some time, somewhere, Yahweh, Jehovah, Buddha, God, Allah, Jesus, somebody is going to let me in on the cosmic meaning of 12:34.
I woke to the nasty-ass stench of skunk as it wafted through my open bedroom window. Not just “passing through” skunk smell, but “I sprayed you, sucker” skunk smell.
I shut the window and looked at the clock.
12:34 a.m.
I lay back down, shut my eyes, cleared my mind and waited. I prayed that all would be revealed.
(I’m not looking for a burning bush here, or a booming voice from heaven on high, I just want to know why it seems I wake or look at the clock several times a week specifically when it’s 12:34.)
Nothing.
But I could hear the skunk digging and rooting around my foundation, looking for a way in (the stinky little vermin are nocturnal and love to hide in crawl spaces and the like; I have a pier-and-beam house, meaning lots of places to hid, if they can get in).
No way was I going to give shelter to skunks. Especially one that woke me from a nice sleep).
I got the BB gun.
And fired several copper BBs into various brush and tree lines (hey, it was dark, and I didn’t bring a flashlight). Nothing. No rustling, no skunk.
The smell cleared, too.
I went back to bed.
(Lest you think I’m cruel – or just an animal hater – I’m not; this is the same BB gun I got for my 12th birthday and its pretty much lost all killing-power. I have been shot with it, yes; it stings, but it's not life-threatening)
And I began to ponder – again – why 12:34 is so goddamn important.
No answers came.
Just slumber.
Shit.
I woke to the nasty-ass stench of skunk as it wafted through my open bedroom window. Not just “passing through” skunk smell, but “I sprayed you, sucker” skunk smell.
I shut the window and looked at the clock.
12:34 a.m.
I lay back down, shut my eyes, cleared my mind and waited. I prayed that all would be revealed.
(I’m not looking for a burning bush here, or a booming voice from heaven on high, I just want to know why it seems I wake or look at the clock several times a week specifically when it’s 12:34.)
Nothing.
But I could hear the skunk digging and rooting around my foundation, looking for a way in (the stinky little vermin are nocturnal and love to hide in crawl spaces and the like; I have a pier-and-beam house, meaning lots of places to hid, if they can get in).
No way was I going to give shelter to skunks. Especially one that woke me from a nice sleep).
I got the BB gun.
And fired several copper BBs into various brush and tree lines (hey, it was dark, and I didn’t bring a flashlight). Nothing. No rustling, no skunk.
The smell cleared, too.
I went back to bed.
(Lest you think I’m cruel – or just an animal hater – I’m not; this is the same BB gun I got for my 12th birthday and its pretty much lost all killing-power. I have been shot with it, yes; it stings, but it's not life-threatening)
And I began to ponder – again – why 12:34 is so goddamn important.
No answers came.
Just slumber.
Shit.
Comments
I wonder why my dog always insists on whining before 5:30 in the morning...then I remember that I have a roommate who once decided that 5:00 was when the dog wanted to be fed and made it a pattern. I can't control everything, even after months of trying to break that pattern.
For me, it's butterflies. What's with the butterflies?