It often seems to happen that whenever I desperately need a good night's sleep because I have important things to do the next day, those are the evenings when I toss and turn the most. Sleep is not just for beauty, but it is part of the job description for teachers so that we are energetic and creative in the classroom. Well, every single one of these traits were clouded by the hovering fog of sleeplessness, because I had a midnight intruder last night, and no, not Sefah, my stowaway lizard.
Around 2 a.m. I was ferociously yanked from my slumber by a high-pitched squeal. I rubbed my eyes, dusting the cobwebs of sleep, and decided to hunt down the thief of my dreams. With a violent crescendo, the noise intensified with shrieks and shrills. My first suspect was the fan, so I angrily punched the switch and watched the blades slow to a dead stop. Amidst the now stifled and stuffy room the squeal vibrated with mockery. I dragged my sluggish body from my bed, threw on my best Nancy Drew persona, grabbed a flashlight, and trudged through the heart the darkness with perked ears and a gut clenched in fear.
My perceptions wavered between dreams and reality; the noise transformed from a squeaking ceiling fan to the bleating shrills of a dying lizard that was trapped somewhere in my room. I suddenly froze and pictured poor Sefah stuck in a small crevice, desperation dripping from his weak, wiggling body in small droplets of blood. I waded further into the dark to find my little buddy, but was overtaken by the black smog of fear. The Unknown is a vicious shapeshifter and the noise then morphed into a snake. Oh my god, how did a snake get into my room? Who would I call to help me at two o'clock in the morning? I began to throw on some clothes and shoes in case the shrilling creature decided to attack and I needed to quickly dash out of my apartment.
Suspect lineup: ceiling fan, bleeding lizard, mischievous snake. After approximately 15 minutes of paralysis, I shook away my fear and heaved the desk away from the wall [please don't be a snake. Please don't be a snake. Please don't be a snake]. Well, the discovered criminal most definitely was not a snake. My midnight intruder, thief of dreams, reckless shrieker, and ultimate source of fear in the black, stifling room was none other than . . . a tiny black cricket. You have got to be KIDDING me?!?! Upon the discovery of his hideout, the cricket immediately shut up, but the death penalty was already sentenced. Boiling with fury, I grabbed a flip-flop, its sole splattered with sticky imprints of those who were previously sentenced, and brought down my verdict . . . hard!
So a word of caution for the cast of the Hindi version of "A Bug's Life": don't shriek out in the wee hours of the morning unless you have a death wish. However, I would probably spare an insect from this fatal end if he was wearing a cute little bug-size top hat like Jiminy Cricket :)
Around 2 a.m. I was ferociously yanked from my slumber by a high-pitched squeal. I rubbed my eyes, dusting the cobwebs of sleep, and decided to hunt down the thief of my dreams. With a violent crescendo, the noise intensified with shrieks and shrills. My first suspect was the fan, so I angrily punched the switch and watched the blades slow to a dead stop. Amidst the now stifled and stuffy room the squeal vibrated with mockery. I dragged my sluggish body from my bed, threw on my best Nancy Drew persona, grabbed a flashlight, and trudged through the heart the darkness with perked ears and a gut clenched in fear.
My perceptions wavered between dreams and reality; the noise transformed from a squeaking ceiling fan to the bleating shrills of a dying lizard that was trapped somewhere in my room. I suddenly froze and pictured poor Sefah stuck in a small crevice, desperation dripping from his weak, wiggling body in small droplets of blood. I waded further into the dark to find my little buddy, but was overtaken by the black smog of fear. The Unknown is a vicious shapeshifter and the noise then morphed into a snake. Oh my god, how did a snake get into my room? Who would I call to help me at two o'clock in the morning? I began to throw on some clothes and shoes in case the shrilling creature decided to attack and I needed to quickly dash out of my apartment.
Suspect lineup: ceiling fan, bleeding lizard, mischievous snake. After approximately 15 minutes of paralysis, I shook away my fear and heaved the desk away from the wall [please don't be a snake. Please don't be a snake. Please don't be a snake]. Well, the discovered criminal most definitely was not a snake. My midnight intruder, thief of dreams, reckless shrieker, and ultimate source of fear in the black, stifling room was none other than . . . a tiny black cricket. You have got to be KIDDING me?!?! Upon the discovery of his hideout, the cricket immediately shut up, but the death penalty was already sentenced. Boiling with fury, I grabbed a flip-flop, its sole splattered with sticky imprints of those who were previously sentenced, and brought down my verdict . . . hard!
So a word of caution for the cast of the Hindi version of "A Bug's Life": don't shriek out in the wee hours of the morning unless you have a death wish. However, I would probably spare an insect from this fatal end if he was wearing a cute little bug-size top hat like Jiminy Cricket :)
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