Wretched Device

I'm not exactly the cheeriest person when I wake up.

I'm even less cheery when getting bashed over the head with a large object.  Combine the two together, and it's just not a pretty sight.

This weekend, I had an old friend, Tom, up visiting.  While he was up, he moved the fan that I had in my window (not being accustomed to the semi-arctic conditions that I usually keep my room in) and set it on the heater right below. I didn't think much of it, and it sat there undisturbed for an entire day.

When I turned in for the night, I closed my window blinds and tossed out my blankets on the floor.  In a few minutes, I was pretty much passed out.

Not more than ten minutes after I laid down, though, something big and heavy hits me in the head.  My first thought (for whatever strange reason) was that somebody had smashed me in the head with some large, heavy object, such as a thick textbook.  I'd say that I leapt to that cliche conclusion because I watch to much bad TV, but I don't really watch much TV, so instead I'll just blame it on chronic insanity and a hyperactive imagination.

Regardless, I was ready to jump up and do battle with whatever imaginary foe saw fit to assault me with a textbook in the dead of night.  Only then did I realize that said large, heavy object was still on my head.  I also realized that my head hurt a lot.  Probably because it had just been struck by a large, heavy object. 

I promptly did what any rational person would do when torn from sleep by an unwarranted noggin-assault.

I began hollering creative obscenities and bludgeoning said object into submission.

Only then did I realize that said object was, in fact, my fan.  For whatever reason, it had vaulted off the ledge where it had sat all day and body slammed my unconscious skull into oblivion.

At this point, Tom, who was sleeping above me on my bed-couch, woke up to my raucous shouts.  Our conversation probably went something like this... (any and all inaccuracies will be blamed on my sleep fogged mind and mildly concussed brain)

Me: "*$&%@*#$*{"

Tom: "Dude, what's your deal?"

Me: "Uuuurgh!  My heeaaaad!"

Tom: "What happened?"

Me: "Fan!  Head!  Fall!  Hit!  Pain!  Stupid!"

Tom: "Oh, dude, that sucks."

Me: *gurgle*

Tom: "The wind against the blinds musta pushed the fan over or something."

Me: *gurgle*

Tom: "So are you okay?"

Me: *gurgle* "Yeah.  Head." *gurgle*

Tom: "So is it okay to laugh now?  Cause that was freaking hilarious."

Me: "Yes.  I hate you." *gurgle*

Tom proceeded to laugh at me long and hard, as I doubtless would have done to him were our positions reversed.  The odd thing was that the fan didn't actually hurt me all that much.  It was just a fan (see: not all that heavy), and it didn't land on my face or any of the other squishier bits of my head (no comments from the peanut gallery).  

No, it was more like a moral affront.  I was in a state of bliss and rest, and this fan had the gall to attack me without provocation and drag me kicking and screaming from my tranquil repose.  The nerve.  Well someday, fan, there will be a reckoning between us two.  Until then, enjoy your victory, you wretched device.