Tired

Yesterday at church someone asked Bryan how he had been. The week was full of many forms of woe, but Bryan didn't particularly care to discuss any of them. His hesitation to respond, however, precluded a very convincing "good." He settled for another more truthful word: "Tired." This answer satisfied both honesty and privacy.

Walking away, Bryan thought about the root of that word. Graphically:

"Tire"

"Tired"

He realized just how spot-on his answer had been, albeit unintentionally. And he may never see that word quite the same way again.

Later that night, feeling tired about a lot of things, he received some advice concerning one of them from an old friend with whom he hadn't spoken in a very long time.

"Maybe tonight you can WILL her to come into your life. Instead of counting sheep, visualize the girl of your dreams running toward a white picket fence, then hurling herself over into a heap on the other side. Then she gets up and runs around to do it all over again. Poor dream girl. Pretty soon she will be so crumpled that she will have no choice but to appear to you in reality so she no longer has to endure the torture in your subconscious. Just a thought." -Lanelle

Bryan laughed, and laughed, and tried to sleep, and laughed some more. In his first class this morning, the professor commented three times on how Bryan kept smiling and laughing during the lecture, when neither he nor any other student in twenty years had found signal field graph modeling quite that entertaining. Eventually Bryan became slightly concerned that this mental image should probably cease to amuse him so, but then he squashed out the concern and laughed again.