Cobras

 There are a few unpleasant ways to be jolted awake in the morning, having Felix's goons battering your door telling you to "wakey wakey, the boss wants to see you again." is one of them. Nothing quite gets the old pacemaker skipping a beat like a wake up call from Felix. A before breakfast chat with Felix is a way to get you to want to skip breakfast and possibly lunch as well. Another way is the industrial sounds of "progress" being made in our fair city. Someone, somewhere is always building something, and some other bastard is equally enthusiastically tearing something else down, then there are the bastards who live above you that like to teach their pet elephant (they must have a pet elephant, that's the only thing that could be that loud) how to polka at 8 a.m.. These are both shit ways to wake up, and face the day, but today option three was on offer, a gift of my glorious subconscious, and just a little too much gin.

Jolting awake, as the poison the cobras in your dream injected into you finally begins to work its deadly way into your central nervous system, is not a pleasant way to start the day either. You let out a small, girlish whimper and lash out to try to ground yourself into what you hope is the reality that doesn't contain cobras. Granted in this particular iteration of the cobra dream, I had at least killed two of the bastards. The one whose poison was in the process of killing me, and his/her/its partner (do cobras, like cops, have partners? Christ I hope not). It takes a few precious seconds to realize you're not in fact dying of cobra venom, and that you are "safely" in your own bed, and safely is defined very broadly. After all, Felix knows where you live, Felix seems to know everything about you. Sometimes, when you lose your glasses, you wish Felix were around, the son of a bitch would probably know where you left them as well, and what your prescription is. 

This morning's added bonus was as I jolted awake my hand encountered an object in the bed with me that I had no memory of being there when I went to "sleep" (some people, with little imagination and a lot of prudishness might call it passing out). Needless to say, this was almost as scary as the cobras. Had Felix finally planted a dead body in bed with me to pin some murder charge on me to make me dance to his tune? Had I actually killed someone in a drunken rage, as some people think I am prone to? A small grunt from the form next to me at least answered the dead body question. It seemed the body was, in fact, alive. Which I briefly considered a plus, before reconsidering the fact that I had no idea how that 'body' got to be beside me, and to whom it belonged. A quick glance to the left confirmed that yes, there was another (live) body in the bed next to me. Having answered the dead/alive question, I shook my head and began to ponder question two which was who in the actual fuck was this person? 

The glorious and wholly intentional lack of light in my bedroom was not going to be particularly helpful in answering this question, and my desire to "shed a little light on the subject" was not exactly high, so I was left with attempting to push aside the lingering terror of cobras in my mind, and start trying to piece together where I could have obtained aforementioned body. Rejecting the obvious way, which was elbowing said person, and politely inquiring as to their actual identity, I decided to try to think. I try not to think too much, as it generally gives me a headache, but it seemed to be the only unobtrusive way of ascertaining who was gently snoring into my extra pillow. Well short of finding their wallet/purse and rifling through it for their ID card, which would probably work, but they might frown upon. Sadly, it would seem I was stuck relying on my foggy memory, or my addles wits to sort out this person's name, and more importantly how they came to occupy the other side of my generally solo occupancy bed.

The gin was apparently more effective than I had hoped/intended for it fogged the memory and addled the wits (never a particularly hard thing to do in the best of times) to the degree where both were drawing blanks as to the solution to the latest mystery life had thrown in my general direction. I decided to lie there as quietly as any man could that was cursing himself for a drunken, forgetful fool, and hope that when they awoke, they would just fill in the increasingly large blanks that constituted the last 12 hours of my existence. A further, furtive inspection did reveal the person was of the female variety, which I suppose was a small blessing, and was presently in a state of undress that would suggest that perhaps the gap in my memory was even sadder than I thought. It would seem considering my own state of unclothedness that I had forgotten what appeared to be a smashing good time. I didn't even bother to swear off drink, why lie to the gods and yourself first thing in the morning?

As I continue to puzzle out how I was to learn the name of my latest playmate, she made my morning all the more exciting by muttering in her sleep. At first it was gibberish, and I couldn't make out a word of it,but then as she continued to carry on her conversation with whomever she was talking to in her dream. She calmly said "but Mr. Felix, I don't want to." And that, boys and girls is how I met the cute little typist in Felix's office. Some days I prefer the cobras.

To be continued (eventually)