So, I had this really amazing revelatory moment with God where I connected with his linguistic perfection (it made sense at the time). And, thus, I had every intention of writing a beautifully wrought piece of prose about this gorgeous miracle of a moment in my life.
And, then, my mind got a little sidetracked by a seemingly random text.
Some back story:
For some time now, I have kept a journal on my nightstand where I jot down creative writing ideas or dreams (I’m an avid dreamer). About a month ago, I decided, rather than writing it down in the middle of the night (turning on the lamp, finding the pen, etc), I would just text the key elements to myself. I was rather pleased when one morning, at 2am, I had the idea. My phone is always on the nightstand, it has its own light—this is a great idea. So, for a month now, I have done this. I have written entire stories that originated from these middle of the night texts. Its worked out rather well. The next morning I would retrieve the texts and then go about my business.
So, this morning, as I walked up the sidewalk to the church, feeling rather morose (I was on my way into a funeral), I reached into my pocket for my phone so that I could silence it when I noticed I had a text coming in.
From myself.
Which read:
Who IS this???
At first I was confused (talk about journey of self discovery!). So, I pulled up the text and see all of my dream and story idea texts in the strain. And, then I realize that the text wasn’t actually from myself—it was from a phone number one digit off of mine. Which, meant…
Oh.
My.
GOD!
I had not been texting all of those texts to myself at all. I had initially wondered why, when I texted myself, I didn’t actually receive the texts—but I figured it was because it was all the same phone or some fluke or something (and I could easily see the texts in my sent, so I had what I needed). And, yes, I should have double-checked the number that I initially punched in at 2am…but I just never noticed!
I scanned the texts I’d sent:
All night chapel. Flower in buttonhole. Casino cocktail waitress. Smoky din. Chipped polish.
Balsa wood. Rope swing. Sunshine
.
Grasshoppers. Lakeshore. Painted toes. Clear water.
Having had essentially texted my journal to someone, I was panicked. But, as I looked at the texts, it really wasn’t so bad. It was whimsical and lovely, no reason for alarm. And, then I got to a wonky week I had back in September--
Flying fish. Omg…flying friggin fish.
Still not so bad…
Ballroom dancing midgets.
Weird, but not horrible.
And, then I came to it:
Sex. Obese man. Couldn’t find his hoo-haa.
Couldn’t find his hoo-haa? His HOO-HAA???
And:
Neil Diamond. Naked. Sweet Caroline. Pelvis action. I’m in love. School girl LOOOOVE!
*hangs head in shame*
And, mysteriously:
Toe jam and farts…farts and toe jam.
(don’t even ask)
And:
Monkey bizzznessssssss.
(What does that even mean?)
And, finally:
I am the coolest person on earth! EARTH!
(let’s not even discuss my ego…that was yesterday’s blog)
So, I’m on the way into a funeral, and I receive this text, and I realize that this person has been receiving middle of the night texts from me. Texts about boffing obese men! And, Neil Diamond fantasies. And, weird stuff about flying monkeys and flying fish and me flying wrapped in a patchwork quilt wearing a tiara (I have a lot of flying in dreams).
Sweet Baby Jesus!
So, I did what any respectful person entering a funeral would do.
I began to giggle uncontrollably.
F*%*!
And, the more I giggled, the more uncontrollable the giggling became. Jack is giving me the—Oh sweet Mother of Mercy, what am I supposed to DO with this woman—look. But, I can’t stop. And, finally, he says:
O! (he calls me O) Noooooo!
Then somehow, through stifling snorts (I’m laughing so hard, I’m completely doubled over at this point—people are thinking I’m having some sort of a mental break, I’m sure), I tell him what I had done.
At first, he’s keeping it together rather nicely when I say:
Obese guy!! Holy crap…obese guy!!! (He had been made aware of this particularly traumatizing dream)
And, he completely lost it.
We were laughing; then we were crying. It was a mess.
It was a funeral—grief does funny things to people.
So, instead of my God blog, you get to hear about a far less transcendental moment as I simply couldn’t explore anything quite so seraphic until my humiliation abates. And, what better way to abrogate one’s mortification than to explore it in a public blog?
Right? Right.
As for the poor unsuspecting textee who had texted me:
Who IS this? (seriously, after a month of odd middle of the night texts—you choose NOW to ask?)
I responded the only way I could with:
Your subconscious?
To which I received:
Lol! I love it! I’ve always wondered how you keep up with me! I AM the coolest person on earth!
Thank God, they had a sense of humor.
