Please watch this very short clip of the opening for the early 60’s TV show “The Rifleman”. You’ll see Chuck Connors walking down a street rapid-firing his rifle. I count 14 shots (Hollywood rifle.)
Why do this? So you can fully picture what happened to . . . uh, umm, a friend of mine. He, ya, he couldn’t sleep, so in the middle of the night he was revisiting his childhood by watching several episodes of The Rifleman. As dawn approached, he felt he could finally sleep, so he just stepped away from his laptop and crumpled into his bed, just three feet away. He didn’t bother turning off the computer because he knew it would soon automatically go into “sleep” mode and he’d be using it again as soon as he woke up. He zonked out.
At some point maybe the boat rocked (ya, just like me he lives on a boat), maybe enough to slide the mouse and wake up the computer. For some reason the next YouTube video started playing. Yes, it was another Rifleman episode, opening with 14 rifle shots ringing out inside the smallish interior of a boat.
He woke up, oh, yes, he woke up! Just like in the old cartoons, his entire body jumped up, still horizontal, his wavering blanket a clear foot above him, and his eyes shot a full six inches out of his skull, his teeth erupted all at once like synchronized popcorn, and he screamed like an out-of-tune Scottish bagpipe. No coffee needed this morning!
When . . . um, he told me about this, he reminded how just a week or two ago in a dream and in reality he fought off a horde of knee-high T-rex dinosaurs, his thrashing causing him to fall out of bed and bonk his head hard enough to give him a sore neck for days. Also, he recalled the time he was up all night battling a single wiley cricket, which nearly resulted in their mutual and explosive destruction. Then he asked me, “How, after so many years of experience and education and thoughtful, intentional living, how has my life devolved into nothing but a string of slapstick comedy skits?”
Ya, uhm, my friend, ya, he asked me that. I have no answer.