Mind over Matter

I am firmly convinced that, on certain warm nights when I of necessity have to sleep with my windows open, and the atmospheric conditions are just right, the Chicago Transit Authority re-routes its elevated tracks, normally less than 1,000 feet from my apartment, directly through my living room. The result is that as the Red Line roars past my bedroom door, I sometimes wake up...at least partially.

What time is it? My mind inevitably asks.

I have no idea, I reply without actually speaking.

Well, look.

I don’t want to look.

Yes, you do.

No, I don’t. I just want to go back to sleep.

A brief moment of silence follows, then: What time is it?

I don’t know and I don’t care!

Well, look at the clock and find out.

I don’t want to look at the clock. I want to go back to sleep.

Not until you look at the clock.

This goes on for what seems like an eternity until inevitably, I look at the clock, seething with resentment and anger over my giving in yet again to my mind’s niggling.

But finally, I am allowed to go back to sleep, until:

You have to go to the bathroom.

No, I don’t.

Yes, you do.

I don’t want to go to the bathroom.

Well, you’d better.

I’ll go later.

You’ll be sorry.

And of course, even though I may really not have needed to go to the bathroom, just thinking about it makes it so, and I get up and go to the bathroom.

In my new Elliott Smith Mystery series, Elliott has nightly conversations with a non-corporeal being named John. Guess where I got the idea?

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