His ears began to perceive noise long before his brain interpreted the nocturnal sounds all around him. A symphony of vibrations yelling for clarity that he was unable to identify. As he struggled to regain consciousness, his swollen sand-caked eyes squinted to focus on his whereabouts. His blurry vision captured images of sand and water, but no signs of life. “Where am I?” raced through his head as the level of consciousness escalated with the newfound adrenalin rushing through his veins. He painstakingly became vertical and failed at an attempt to walk. “I desperately need water,” he surmised. Unable to become mobile, he slumped back down in the sand and waited for the inevitable. Hours passed and the inevitable did not come. “Wait, what was that?” A familiar but faint voice was heard off in the distance.
“Ken, Ken wake up. What are you doing out here curled up in Crissy’s sandbox?” Jillian asked confused.
“Huh, where am I? Is that you Jilly? I can’t see you,” Ken responded squinting in his befuddled state.
“Of course it’s me. You probably just don’t recognize me since you spend more time with that silly manuscript then you do me,"Jillian exclaimed sarcastically.
“Oh no, I did it again,” Ken responded rubbing the sand out of his swollen eyes. “How in the world did I get here? The last thing I seem to remember was that I was working upstairs on my manuscript. After that, all I recall is this great dream I had. I guess it was a dream, or maybe I was just walking and writing in my sleep,” Ken added with a chuckle.
“Ken doll, I truly do not find any of this amusing. This is the third time this week honey, you fell asleep somewhere other than your bed. And while I'm on my soapbox, let me just add, a few more steps and you could have drown in the pool!” Jillian proclaimed with her exasperated but concerned tone. “You really need to take a break from this writing thing for a while. You’re simply not getting enough sleep.”
“But I am so close to finishing, I can’t stop now. Come on baby; cut me some slack here, ok?”
“I just worry about you, that’s all. You seem to be burning the candle at both ends. You work all day at the hardware store, come home and grab a sandwich, and then race upstairs to your desk to write all night. I guess I’m beginning to feel a little like a writer’s widow,” Jillian concluded hugging Ken’s broad shoulders.
“I’m sorry, but I just can’t help it. I can’t seem to shut it off. My brain hijacks my thoughts and pours out all these fresh new writing ideas. That’s why I carry my little notebook with me wherever I go. I know, I know, I see you rolling your eyes at me. But honey, when all these ideas begin to gel, I just can’t explain the euphoria I feel,” Ken retorted with that all familiar far-off look in his eyes.
Jillian just shook her head and responded, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Actually I would love a large glass of cold water right now; my mouth is parched,” Ken said as he tasted the leftover sand grit in his mouth. “I have this great idea for the next chapter of my manuscript. I just need to jot it down before I forget it. Come on Jilly, don’t be mad at me. I promise I’ll take you out some place real nice for dinner—your choice,” Ken said as he raced back upstairs.
“Promises, promises,” Jillian yelled with attitude toward the stairs, as Ken transcended back into his writer’s trance.
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