It wasn't meant to put me to sleep. The Duke's saga of his Dublin trip is anything but numbing. The tale of his (and Sir Fleming's) quest for jazz, love, and God knows what else is a ride through a talent I am astounded to witness, yet I got sleepy, and it was good. Maybe I was hypnotized, and awoke groggy. I don't know. But I knew I needed the sleep.
I had been watching TV earlier, vacillating between Ron White's, They Call me Tater Salad on Comedy Central, Foxy Brown on Sundance, and Meet Joe Black. I started analyzing the acting of Brad Pitt, Anthony Hopkins, and Claire Forlani, and wondered if it was their best work. I would still be ruminating about that if I hadn't remembered my son's request for me to monitor the Weather Channel's coverage of Hurricane Katrina while he slept.
Shit that's right, I had managed to forget for a little while. In the late afternoon/early evening I was glued to the Weather Channel, and thought I was doing my son a favor by pointing out how extrodinary this was going to be, this massive storm about to hit the South. As we both watched, I stopped playing instructor and was open-mouthed — listening, watching.
Holy crap! This wasn't going to be good. Gulping and squirming in my chair, I thought that perhaps I was really watching a documentary on the filming of The Day After Tomorrow, a movie that I have been addicted to lately. The whole scenario seemed too improbable.
I go online and watch the ABC coverage for a while, then go back to watch The Weather Channel. Finally I take a break for The Duke's posts. A few weeks ago, we were sharing weekend plans, his weekend in Dublin was probably going to be a little more lively than mine in Old Orchard Beach, ME. (Though mine was lovely, thankyou), though both were intended to be for resting and recharging. I think I did more resting and The Duke did more recharging. So, I am all relaxed, after my visit to Dublin, via his Dukeness, and I get ready for bed.