sleep is one of those past times that, if collectible, i would be at the swap meet every day with tons of knick-knacks to sell. that being said, it tends to be a light sleep and probably an hour or so before i finally relinquish the subconscious to the conscious and therefore the darkness to the illumination of opening my eyelids, i hear almost everything. that isn't to say that i necessarily identify the slams, clamors and bangs with exactitude and precision.
for example, as i was in the early dozings of the marine-layered morning that is so typical of san diego with its coolness that exudes a tranquility but is simply a ruse for the summer that is beset upon us, i kept hearing a repetitive sound (was it outside? inside?) of something strikingly similar to one sopping up a large puddle of water with a not-so-dry towel in the bathroom. this could be a possibility at the place that i'm lodging at for the time being until shannon returns. there are cats, dogs and people galore with baths and water typically utilized extensively. perhaps one of the cats needed a flea bath and given the feline's natural abhorrence to water produced quite the mess for one of my roommates to then mop.
as i was ruminating half-awake on this possibility, the noise shifted direction and no longer did it seem to be coming from indoors. it was a constant click, more refined now and discernible. the night slumber was quickly fading, i knew it, but still i rustled with the sheets in an almost pretend sleep. i had it: someone was pruning a bush or chopping a hedge. snip. snip. snip. with the clear slicing din of the shears immediately brought back memories of when i was still a pre-teen and was forced to mow the lawn every week. how i despised the notion of being out there. getting sweaty and ruining my clothes. the smell of the fumes from the lawn mower made me nauseous and well, i just didn't want to do it because my step-father told me that i had no choice.
along with the years going by and the color of the front door constantly being repainted (as my mother loved to change colors more often than a chameleon would), i began to get used to doing the lawn. in fact, by the time that i left the house for greater evangelistic ops in brooklyn at 19, i was looking forward to getting out in the slightly overgrown blades of grass and even though we had a riding mower for the half-acre, i insisted on mowing everything with the pusher. the straight lines and precision did something for me. like a golf course. the trimming of hedges and maintenance of the grounds was something pleasurable now. perhaps the psychosis was setting in and the obsessive-compulsive behavior was unavoidable especially in a household where everything had to at least look perfect.
it made me think as i opened my eyes that i would like to have some type of garden or yard to take care of. will it be possible to have such a thing in london? or is that still only available to aristocracy or simply be knighted - which doesn't appear to have the equality to the prior any longer.
the sounds are gone now and all i hear are the endless pecks of the keyboard and the nagging voice inside telling me to get up...i have flowers to pick for the wedding to be with renee in a couple of hours.