Panic

Last night, I had dinner with my team from the Taproot Foundation, a nonprofit I'm working with. Many of us are in various stages of experiencing or recovering from major life issues, so the conversation was lively. Thus, I missed the 8 p.m. train. Which meant I had to take the 9:30. Which resulted in me finally putting head to pillows around 11:30 pm.

So you can imagine how pleasant a person I was when the alarm went off at 4:57 a.m.

Imagine the surprise, panic and concern that arose when I staggered downstairs to find a text message from Good Buddy.

"This is stupid, but if you're up before 8 I need wakeup call. Seriously."

Now, if you know of GoodBuddy, you know he's not one to (ahem) shall we say, live an ascetic lifestyle. He's kinda prone to excess.

So my (albeit overly tired) writer's imagination was running wild. What kind of mess had he got himself into that he was going to need me to wake him up? In what state could he have gone to bed that he couldn't rely on his own faculties? Would I have to call the paramedics? The police? The morgue?

Turns out he couldn't find his alarm clock.

Could he not have mentioned that wee little fact in his text?

I need more coffee.