"Sometimes there's mystique, and sometimes there's nothing but the pitiful tackiness of violent death. And none of this, of course, means a damn thing to the people who die."
- Patrick Smith, Pilot
3:00 a.m. - Doylestown, PA. I have to pee something fierce. We're in the basement at Jim's because Mike's room was too warm, too bright and too noisy for the baby to sleep. In fact, she was up every hour or so the night before. The basement solves all of the sleep issues and she's sleeping beautifully tonight. And, she's been sound asleep since around 9:30. So I fumble over the wifey, rocking her all over the place on the air mattress, but being dutifully careful not to disturb the bassinet. God, I have to pee and the bathroom is all the way upstairs.
Using a borrowed mini-flashlight, I find my way up the stairs and into the guest bathroom. It's at least 20 degrees warmer up here and am I happy we chose to sleep in the basement. It is such an opulent facility.
Soon, I have an impressive stream going, and the sound of the water is soothing. But, I'm still a bit sleepy so I lean my arm against the wall for support... for...just...a...mom...ent...
I awake to the most horrifying crash I've ever experienced in my life. The shattering sound is nothing compared with the blinding white flash of light. Have I been shot? Bludgeoned? I must be dead, because no one survives such traumatic crashes. Why am I looking at the ceiling? Why is everything blurry? Why am I on the floor?
Fortunately, my equipment is put away (even though my fly is still open). I am sore in many places and everything is still very blurry. My glasses are somewhere. I check my skull and feel for broken bones. I look in the mirror. I flush.
And everyone in the whole house--all eleven people, 'cept the baby--are staring at me as I exit.
Somehow, I have fallen. Or passed out? Or just fallen back asleep? What on earth was that about? But, I didn't have to pee anymore.
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