It’s three-thirty in the morning and I’m awake. I’m awake because the dog jumped on me. The dog jumped on me because he is afraid of thunder. Why was there thunder? The weatherperson didn’t say anything about rain in the forecast. I watched the late night weather and traffic reports, and remember hearing about the broken water pipe that would cause traffic jams during tomorrow’s rush hour, but not a word about rain in the middle of the night. Yet it was unmistakable. There was a thunderclap, causing the dog to jump on me, and I am awake. What more proof do I need?
I am lying on my back, staring upward, and suddenly find myself unable to fall back to sleep because I am obsessing about the weatherperson. What motivates one to become a weatherperson? Weatherpeople, like dentists, are not always regarded with affection. They are blamed for spoiling picnics and baseball games. Right now, I’m angry at the weatherperson for not preparing me for the thunderclap in the middle of the night. I might have given my dog a tranquilizer. Then I wouldn’t be lying here thinking about how tired I’m going to be tomorrow. But it’s not tomorrow, is it? It’s already today. I’m going to be tired today.