There are voices. Loud voices. Now a car door. Kids squawking excitedly. Is this the 3rd level of hell? Where am I? Nothing felt familiar. Even the bed. Yeah, I’m in bed… but not the comfy familiar bed of 17 years in my palace of solitude back in Scarborough. A new bed. And it’s hot here. Too hot. Maybe open my eyes? Maybe sit up? Bonk..oh right.. I’m sleeping in a coffin. In the loft of my motorhome, the rolling palace. In a parking lot. A parking lot. How the mighty have fallen? No, I wanted this. I planned this. For years really I have thought how great it would be to escape the suffocating responsibilities and costs of home ownership and just deck out a motorhome with all the creature comforts that I can move around as needed. No more shoveling driveways, raking leaves, fixing the garage door opener etc etc. Simplicity and adventure in a mobile 1 bedroom apartment and the rent would be zero!
The sound of cars and talking outside fades away. And is replaced by buzzing. Not the kind of buzzing from a suspect exhaust of one of the many beater cars that populate the Park ‘n Ride. More like an angry wasp having a massive panic attack.
The buzzing moves overhead and around my enclosed sleeping space. Shit.. It’s definitely inside. Where are my glasses? Adrenaline. Bonk. My fucking head again. Stupid. I’m going to make it pay. Dissection. Slowly. Decapitation. Hunt down its family. Kill them all. Glasses on. My waking nightmare is wall walking in varied directions, I need a weapon. My voltage enhanced bug killing tennis racket is downstairs. I can’t sit up to go down stairs without putting my defenseless head right next to the marauding insect luftwaffe. My brain begins to come alive. The intruder dive bombs my face, touches my forehead. The motherfucking piece of shit. My caveman DNA goes ape shit. With my left hand I grab onto the curtain which gives the sleeping space some privacy from the rest of the motorhome. The wasp is right above my face. Die motherfucker! I strike out and land a solid direct hit where he is on the ceiling. I twist my hand and roll my knuckles to ensure his obliteration. How fucking dare you? That’s what you get, you fucking fuck! I’m flooded with satisfaction and relief. I release my hand so I can view the remains of the ruination of my morning. Instead, a burst of buzzing and frenzied flight towards my feet. Does this insect practice parkour? How the fuck did it not get crushed multiple times? It defies all laws of physics. Another dive bombing. I roll to my left. Luckily the ladder is there to partially break my fall. Is every morning going to be this way?