SYMPHONY TO A SLEEPLESS NIGHT

One morning I awoke at half past three which I did occasionally. Nature was calling me, as they say. Bleary eyed I'd do what I had to do, then creep back to my bed and resume my sleep as I always did before. But not even a hint of snore, not the relaxation that precedes deep sleep, not the heaven blessed rest that is prelude to quietude of intruding unconsciousness eased me to the insensibility I sought so desperately. I shut my eyes. To my surprise I could not sleep.

I had read and heard it said that if I counted sheep in my head my bed and I would comply and by and by the shuteye I craved would come. Sounded dumb but I'd give it a try. I started out---one, two, three, four until I'd totaled enough sheep to fill a mutton store. You'd think shuteye would welcome me. That was not to be.

I tried counting other things. Telephone rings, swinging swings, romantic flings, ding-dong-dings, My imagination only led to more frustration. Then I asked the inner me, why not imagine a symphony or even a simple melody, some harmony to serenade me to slumberland? That didn't bring the sleep I sought but, oh, the sounds it wrought ought to resound at Carnegie Hall. I was so enthralled by what I heard that I forgot to do what I wanted to. I held my breath at each pause and found myself joining in the applause.

I thought I was wide awake, but when the conductor came out to take a bow my clapping startled me out of my hypnotic spell. I opened my eyes and to my surprise I was not front row center at Carnegie Hall, I was sitting on my toilet seat keeping time to the orchestration with my squeezing, displeasing flatulent sounds of constipation.