Sounds Mingled in the Night Air...

I am feeling much better after three days away in Napa Valley. Some gentle small town paced living and three raging hangovers helped put my life into proper perspective.

We stayed at a great B & B! - Christ, I'm getting old to make that kind of a statement. But it was pretty damn cool, private sunken jacuzzi, sun porch, fireplace, fresh breakfast delivered to your door. Well, on the last night there, I'd had a few too many "tastes" of wine and other spirits. So I can't really sleep, I read, I stretch out, I write some notes. Doesn't work. So I slip on my flip flops and pajama bottoms and go outside where it's on the chilly side. I'm petting the B&B owner's cat (It's name is R.D. for Really Dumb.) But they said "He doesn't let anybody pet him, ever." So I'm enjoying the honor of being so non-threatening that not even cats are intimidated by me. I am jotting notes that will assure my place in the Museum of Television, Radio and Blog Hall of Fame. The cat gets bored with me and wanders off. I'm sitting on the steps outside our room. Penny is in deep hibernation on the soft feather bed. I hear the sound of a woman crying. And not just soft sniffle-crying. I'm talking about full-on wailing, moaning, crying. I'm a nice guy and so I decide to walk over to where the sound is coming from just because I think she might need somebody to talk to or help calm her down. It's dark so I can't see. But then I think, is some sobbing woman going to be happy to have some weird guy in flip flops plaid pj pants wander out of the darkness at one in the morning? No. And I can tell this because as she hears me approach she quiets her sobs from a howl to the breathy hiccup crying sound. Okay, so I don't want to embarrass her. Let her work it out. I'm not taking on any new patients right now, anyway. It's what I get for being what my friends call "a nurturer." Somehow I also manage to be a kind nurturer and a selfish, know-it-all bastard. It's like those guys who can juggle a chain saw and a rosebud at the same time. I go back to sit down on the steps of my suite. A minute goes by and I hear what sounds like the woman crying again. No, it's coming from the other direction. It's crying, yes, but it's not the "Ooh, life is so hard" variety of crying, it's the "Oooo, your dick is so hard and due to the expert manner that you are inserting it into my orifice, I'm going to come like a horny machine gun any second now." Then I realize there are two women crying. From one side of the Inn is the woman crying in utter sadness and from the other side there is some woman crying out in "joyful appreciation." It's a weird concert of sexual delight and emotional strife. And the sounds are remarkably similar. In fact I can barely tell them apart. At the time I thought that this was a powerful idea, attesting to some great revealing synergy about the nature of pain and pleasure. I had a mixed reaction to this symphony of female cries moving through the night air. As I'm deciding if I'm concerned or fascinated, R.D. (the cat) struts back over and proceeds to rub himself against me in a very forward manner, as if I wasn't already feeling uncomfortable. The writer in me secretly hoped that these shrieks were somehow related to one another. Perhaps there was some twisted story that I was just hearing the sound track for. However, I decided to pack up my curiosity and get back into my room before R.D., (the cat) decided to take our physical relationship to the next level.

So many blogs so little time.

krankiboy