Sunday morning has become my self imposed ( yet loosely followed) deadline to post my blogs. I had every intention of posting one this Sunday morning, and oh boy, it would have been a dandy.
In the days leading up to Sunday, I had a revelation, an epiphany. In my head popped - no, burst - no, exploded, the most amazing idea I've ever had. While I was short on time to actually write earlier this week, the seed had been planted, and I did have time to nurture this amazing idea, allowing it to sprout and grow in the warmth of my greenhouse of a mind. This blog would become my Magnum Opus, my grandest work, the blogging equivalent of Walden being written on top of the Mona Lisa.
With the groundwork laid in my brain, I spent Saturday fine tuning the most minute of details in my brain, carefully selecting the perfect word for the poetic diction, placed accordingly in a choreographed cadence.
I returned home after working a double shift, physically tired, but the idea of my greatest literary achievement was rather lively, still growing strong, like Jack's beanstalk climbing to the clouds. No worries, I thought. A sound night of well deserved rest and an early rise is all I would need. And then the words would dance from my fingertips to the screen, the sun would rise, the birds would sing a joyful chorus, and you, the reader, would notice the warmth spreading through your body is not from the 1st cup of coffee that is recommended with this blog, but is actually being induced from the words before you. A great feeling of comfort and joy would overcome you, as if your belly were being rubbed by the hand of God. I made my way to my bathroom for my bedtime routine, and that's when everything changed.
It would seem like such a minor incident, one that should not distract me, and especially not derail me. Yet it did, and with it, I lost nearly everything.
I looked in the mirror. I saw an exhausted man peering back at me. He winked at me, because he too was aware of my Sunday morning date with greatness. I reached for my toothbrush, the final task of the day. But it was not in its usual place. I scanned the bathroom, and quickly found it on the counter. That's not where it belongs. I ran it under the water, brushed my teeth, and made my way to bed.
But that amazing blog, The Blog, which I had rehearsed in my mind all day, which sounded like a symphony in my head, began to fade, as very different thoughts crept in. By the time my head hit my pillow, I felt a nervous anxiety coursing through my veins. Why was my toothbrush moved?
Sure, weaker men have been defeated by less compelling issues. But that was all I could think about. It had been 13 hours since I had last seen my toothbrush. I have four kids, one who is 1 and half years old. We close the door, but maybe just once, in those 13 hours, he found a way in. Probably not, but still, 13 hours is a long time. What would he do if he got to it? His motor skills are pretty advanced for his age, but then again, his age is under 2. Dropping it is a real possibility. So is putting it in his mouth. Or worse. His nose was pretty runny this morning. Oh God!
What if he took it out of the room, and did something with it to one of my dogs, then put it back? I don't buy in to the "their mouths are cleaner than ours" philosophy. I violently turned to my side and clenched my eyes shut as if the these images were being broadcast before them rather than in my mind. I was desperate to fall asleep, silently mouthing the words "Shut up, shut up, shut up" as if it was a 6th grade bully announcing my fears to the entire playground.
I felt a small bump on the inside of my cheek with my tongue. What is that? That wasn't there all day, was it? Its probably nothing, but WHAT IS THAT?!!
I tried to convince myself I probably left it on the counter as I rushed to leave, and rolled to my back. But it was close to the sink. And then I remembered two neighborhood kids were at my house today too. Six kids in and out of the bathroom with my vulnerable toothbrush. Sloppily washing their hands. Maybe little drops of dirty water and soap dripped on my toothbrush. Why did I always insist my kids wash their hands? What if one of them sneezed on it. Maybe it got knocked in to the sink while my kids were brushing their teeth that night, and unknowingly spit on mine. And Seriously, what the Hell is on my cheek?!! I think its getting bigger!!
I tossed my body back to my side. I'm sure they rinsed it off if anything happened. A deep breath. A brief moment of comfort. So something did in fact happen to the toothbrush, then? I rolled back on my back, kicking the covers off of my body, the anxiety causing my body temperature to rise. Maybe it wasn't even mine. My mother is visiting, and she had left her toothbrush safely placed on the counter the night before. Perhaps she left it somewhere else, and I mistakenly grabbed it? Could I really make that mistake? Both brushes in question are white and blue. The only thing I could tell you about my toothbrush is that its white and blue. Brushing my teeth is an exercise in muscle memory. I can do the entire process blindfolded, assuming all the necessary equipment is in its proper place. But I couldn't pick my toothbrush out in a lineup. I don't even know who made it; Oral-B, Colgate, Bic ( Does Bic even make toothbrushes?)... but still, how have I gone through life paying so little attention to something that I insert in to such an intimate place multiple times daily?
But it should be okay. My mother has never had any dental issues and rarely gets sick. But she had Chinese tonight. Shrimp in fact. With soy sauce. Yuck. We both would have used toothpaste, but now in a remarkable display of mind over matter, I felt like I could taste the shrimp and soy sauce just from the few minuscule particles that may have been transferred from her mouth to the toothbrush.
Wait, I'm pretty sure her brush was in the same place it had been the night before. I'm good. But that spot on my cheek is even bigger now. And I think there's another one on the inside of my lip. What happened to my toothbrush?!
I could envision microscopic cells of bacteria getting it on, using my tongue like a cheap hotel mattress for a late night tryst, as they reproduced at a hypersonic pace, covering my mouth with their gross little bacteria babies. I know cells reproduce through mitosis, but I was not in a rational state of mind. My head shook back and forth, me opening my mouth, sticking my tongue out like a cobra on the prowl, hoping the cold night air would slow the horny bacteria. My eyes sprung open, as the horror show I saw in my mind became unbearable. I stared at the ceiling, paralyzed and paranoid. Exactly eighty seven minutes had passed since I first laid down in my bed. In those 87 minutes, I realized 9 different people could have been in that bathroom during those 13 hours I was away, and I had imagined each and everyone of them having a portion of the blame. My breathing became heighten as the army of bacteria marched toward the back of my throat, intent on strangling me from within.
With what little energy I had left, I sprung up. I reached for my cup of water and gulped. Then I realized there was no way I could swallow what ever I was jarring loose as the water swished in my mouth. I headed back to the bathroom and spit it out. I gasped for air. My legs were weakened, yet I knew victory would soon be mine. I yanked open the medicine cabinet and saw the emerald green vile of my antidote. I ripped off the cap, and raised it to my lips. I saw that same man from earlier in the mirror, in much worse shape than before. Bags under his eyes, and sweat leaking from his brow. I felt his pain. We nodded at each other, flashed each other a quick smile, exposing the enemy in our mouths, whispered "I'll see you in Hell", and toasted each other before I dropped to the floor, chugging the bottle of Listerine. I violently gargled, the minty fresh liquid dribbling down my chin. I raised myself back to the sink and let loose a powerful spit, with the force and urgency of a sixteen year old whose stomach is rejecting her first bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, before doing it all over again. I rinsed with hot water, and then well aware of my how my tired mind worked, took a shot and half of NyQuil to prevent being kept awake by more revolting images of what may have happened to my toothbrush.
I awoke early Sunday morning, in a haze. Few remnants remain of that one glorious blog. Like Harrison Ford in Regarding Henry, I am slowly piecing things back together. I'm confident the pieces of the wreckage will wash ashore in my mind, and I can rebuild it. But Sunday morning was not the time. My first priority had become, understandably, getting a new toothbrush.
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Ahhh...the eternal HOPE of SCOPE. Loved it!
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