MY LARGE PLATE OF CAKE!
There you were on the couch, legs up, textbook on your knees, munching an apple. The radio was blasting ghetto-killer funk at FULL BLAST.
You were happy as a clam in your own world while reading about the mating cycle of the Peruvian Cattle Fly for that test on Tuesday. Your only other thought (other than Peruvian Cattle Fly larvae) was "should I go get my comfy pillow?". Maybe it wasn't the pillow but the fuzzy blanket or the teddy bear - either, or. Which ever.
The point is that despite Lamont 'Dirty Boxers' Camelbanger screaming about "whacking da man wi'd a foddy fahv", your head was entirely filled with larvae.
And your mom screeched from two rooms away "how CAN you bleeping STUDY with that horrid RACKET going ON?!?"
Well, see, that's precisely why! Listening to Killah Crack Mastah insulated you.
Not nearly enough, however, as your parents made very clear every time you played 'your' music.
Is it even possible to read with all those interruptions?
So you acquired headphones.
Those only helped for a while.
"Dammit, I can't talk to you with those things on!"
And you silently thought to yourself "umm, that's entirely the point?"
But you never say it out loud. Neither parent would appreciate the logic.
You have to be both diligent about your books, as well as conversationally available at all times.
How odd that they don't grasp the contradiction!
You could go over to a friend's place.......
Except total silence and a closed door raise suspicions there too.
Maybe the treehouse in the back yard. Nobody will interrupt "Life Story of the Banana Moth Revisited" there.
Oh wait, there's that old creep who lives next door. With the binoculars.
Nope, loonies and retired people!
THE NEED FOR SOMEWHERE PRIVATE
Becoming an adult means finally being able to read. Peace, quiet, and a fuzzy blanket. Maybe a carbonated beverage within reach, and something nice to eat.
Kicking back, wearing comfies. Twiddling toes and occasionally scratching.
If you come to the office this weekend and discover me flaked out on a bean bag, wearing my jammies, with a huge plate of cake next to me on the conference room floor, do NOT be surprised.
I'm just being grown up.
See, I've got a big book on my lap!
Don't mind if I scratch.
There's an extra bean bag.
If you want to read, drop on by.
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
. All correspondence will be kept in confidence.