Here be dragons

Dear friend.

Before we get started, quick question. How does everyone know what a dragon looks like? Okay. Different variations. But still radically similar in nature. Since the earliest of human records. One head or two. Only the Egyptians portrayed dragons differently, which was cat-like. Which makes perfect sense to a man who is extremely allergic to cats and finds them completely distasteful. No, I've never eaten cats. To my knowledge. Not that kind of distasteful. While I do have an Epi-pen somewhere in my home, it's probably expired. And you can take the probably out of that previous sentence.

Also, some what disturbingly, the country of Wales proudly portrays the Red Dragon on their national flag, which is the only place outside the game of Dungeons and Dragons I've ever seen a red dragon. Somehow you knew, didn't you. Oh, and there is that one Red Dragon that gets mentioned in the Book of Revelation. So it turns out the Welsh language is damnable, after all. But I digress. Yes. I see your shocked face.

But back to the situation at hand. I hope I haven't delayed too long. Do you still walk the earth? Good. I understand that you're concerned you might have a dragon in your bed. We can deal with that. First, make sure it's still under the bed. If the dragon is sleeping in your bed, we here, outside of your room, secretly or not so secretly, politely or not so politely. call it some shade or another of the Narcissist narcissistic genus and species of dragons. Those dragons are actually a lot tougher to kill. Because you feel you somehow deserve the sleep with the carnage of your life and the killer of your heart. Before I go any further, let me make clear, I do not recommend in any form of public record the killing of that specific species of dragons. I just googled "How to Get Away With Murder" to be able to tell you that six seasons of award winning television are clear on one point: You can't. And now googling "how to get away with murder" is in my search history. But I've established plausible deniability with the aforesaid sentences. Still, if you are sleeping with a narcissist, or if you solidly have a Narcissist narcissistic firmly ensconced in your bed and you are not doing much sleeping, no judgment. See me after class.

In a totally unrelated matter, which is designated by the beginning of a new paragraph: I've got a guy...."

Back to the dragon underneath your bed. Has it gone away yet? Strange. Dragons often go lair shopping in fairy tales and box up and move their entire hoard several times in a chapter book. Yes. That was sarcasm. If you didn't understand that it was sarcasm, that's ironic. Just know that whatever it is, it's not "literally" the best definition of the difference between sarcasm and irony.

Okay. I can hear you are still breathing, so I'll assume you are still alive. Funny, isn't it, how battling dragons turns us all into mouth breathers sooner or later? If you survive this, please try to judge Timmy with the Velcro Shoes a bit less. Maybe he's got dragons in his back pack. Here, because you seem to need it, is the recipe for battling the dragons beneath your bed.

1. Wake up. Always start with that. You can't find dragons while you are sleeping. And you can't sleep while there are dragons under your bed. You know these things. So does everyone else who tries "coping mechanisms". But wow, we try the same failed strategies a lot.

2. Check for your pulse. As long as you still walk the earth, there is an opportunity to vanquish your dragon. If you can't find your pulse, you have a completely different problem. Please know that I've had those problems. Some of them are survivable and some of them aren't. But it's important at this point to find out which type of problem you have. Please stop reading and immediately look for another of my letters, called Reasons to Call 911. I haven't completed it at the time of this writing, but it is in my "Things to Do." pile.

3. This is going to be a hard one. Phone a friend. So much easier if you were on Who Wants to be a Millionaire. I know. But if you watched that show enough, you'd see that most people are just like you. They want to save that call until they REALLY need it. And usually it's a save that doesn't get made until it's too late. If there is any doubt inside your exhausted cranium, let me be clear. CALL. NOW. I know your phone is handy. It's one of the many reasons you're not sleeping so well. So phone a friend.

4. Ask said friend to be in your proximity. If they come running, say thank you. If they don't cross them of this year's Christmas list, and try again. Don't jump ahead to next year's Christmas list quite yet. Try them another time. There will be other opportunities.

5. Breathe. And find somewhere to dry your hands. Because you're about to ask your friend to hold your hand. Hand holding is one of the overlooked key ingredients when battling a dragon. Yes, you can take a minute to figure it out so that each of you can hold the other's non dominant hand.

Side note. This would be a poor time to find out your friend finally decided to take Jesus literally at just the right time in just the wrong way, and had cut off her dominant hand to save herself with a struggle the with the dangerous animal known as the Lust Bunny. But then maybe she's going to need you more than you need her See Reasons to call 911. The dragon will politely remain under your bed until the two of you get home from the hospital.

6. Back in the room? Good. That was fast. Did they really fix things or did they just say "You don't have COVID. Go home." But if you've been gone, it will make the next step a simple one. Why? Because worrying about the monster under your bed can't be combated without this one thing: TURN THE LIGHT ON. When you walk into a room, it's instinct. When you're lying in your bed at night and you hear rustling under the sheets, turning on the lights is almost counter-intuitive. It would involved getting out of bed, and the floor is cold, and you can't sleep, but if you get up, you're going to have to go the bathroom, and then you really won't have any chance at all of getting back to sleep. Sorry. That last sentence was actually intended for another of my soon to be letters, Men of a Certain Age. Pro Tip: if you often find yourself battling dragons in the middle of the night, this is the gift for you this Christmas: https://www.target.com/p/clapper-the-child-night-light/-/A-80339755 .

7. Okay. You are hand in hand with your friend. Or hand in stump. Again, no judgment. For either of you. Step seven. Look under the bed. You may have to get down on your hands and knees at this point, but remember that humility is a power position, and you've chose to get down on your hands an knees. The lights are on. The bed ruffle has been raised. Take a good look at your monster. Size that dragon up. At this point either you and your friend will quickly ascertain whether you are able to carve the dragon up, or if it's going to carve you up. If the dragon is in posture of the second type, repeat steps two through seven. We'll get this thing.

8. You'll notice I didn't mention prayer. Until now. Yes, I know that is your thing. It's not first step in the dance for a lot of folks, and they've still got dragons to slay. Prayer isn't included here as an afterthought. It's included at this point in the recipe, because there are cooks, and there are bakers. Cooks take a general recipe , look at it once or twice, and then throw everything in the crock pot and hope for the best. Bakers, on the other hand, are precise. They don't just measure things. They weigh things. I know! But here the prayer needs to be precise and specific. No, not "God, please help me turn the light on." God turned the lights on hours ago, while you were still playing Candy Crush, hoping inactivity disguised as activity would somehow cause your dragon to die of old age. And I don't mean "Smite my dragon, All Mighty Smiter, but please limit to blast radius to ten feet seven inches because I am standing exactly eleven feet away, and I really like the way my hair is after this last hair cut, and I (kind of) trust that you could limit the blast radius to ten feet eleven inches, but I don't want to presume my own importance or my abilities with a tape measure.

No, the specific prayer that is required is a tough one. But perhaps the most valuable one. Eleven words. No Latin. Or Greek. Or other Hocus Pocus.

I can't.

You can.

Help me to stay close to You.

I can't. I can't change the way I feel. I can't change him. I can't change her. I can't change my financial situation. I can't take away my fear of the future. I can't stop wondering if I'm really right. The list goes on. You already know yours. And even if you don't, Stumpy standing next to you does. That's why you called her. I know you didn't know. But we did. The view is sometimes more clear from out here in the audience.

You can. God you spit the stars out of your mouth. Or started the Big Bang in a Beautiful way. And my life isn't very beautiful right now. God you can walk on water, and I'm drowning. God you can heal the sick. I've been struggling for a while now. God you can give hope and life and peace and joy and forgiveness and even faith. I know. I've read parts of your autobiography. So be that God. For me. Now.

Help me to stay close. Here's the difference between Santa Clause and God. The first two petitions aren't too different from something that might be said on the knee of the one clothed in red velvet. But only an idiot would tell you that you should ask Santa to stay close.

Okay only an idiot, or an idiot who is a really apologetic parent who just thought the Santa to whom he took he first born son was super cool because he'd gone to the same Santa, and that Santa worked in the mall the rest of the year as a cobbler fixing shoes (some of you will have to look up both mall and cobbler, at this point. Use an encyclopedia. It's that strange thing that great grandpa and great grandma have on their book shelves. This particular Santa looked more like Santa than any Santa ever, and then it turned out that that this Santa was actually about to get arrested for inappropriate acts with one of his granddaughters, and that your six month old son was screaming, "Get me off his lap, the indictments are about to come down, the SWAT team is on their way, and I don't trust their aim, entirely, although I am completely convinced in their integrity, and I know they are all working as hard as possible, and I am white which in no way implies any thing about anyone in blue but is a simple reflection of correlation by statistical analysis" but even though he was an advanced child, you couldn't translate his screaming quickly enough. See Reasons I'm Willing to Pay Your Counseling Co-Pay, #87, a list that seems may have to be released in parts, since it keeps growing, and it, as yet, unfinished. Also, aforementioned child things that #87 should be #2, which I will have to add to the list.

Help me to stay close. Because that is going to be the where the real change comes. We become who we hang around. We can't help it. Which explains why two people I dearly love are wrestling with the difficult decision of whether or not to leave their daughter with us on a coming day. Because someone. Go ahead. Place your bets on The Bride. But someone, who shall in this tome remain nameless, used to words "bullshit" and "asshole" out loud in a fifteen minute period. To be fair, Brave, your dad had honestly earned it. But you know it happens. Over time. In proximity. We even start to use the same words, like "proximity." And if you can complete that last request, you'll survive any monster. On the Bed or Under the Bed.

Necessary Addendum Suggesting here that some addendums are unnecessary? Yes. See Revelation. Sorry God. I just don't think it's your best work. But then I've never been a fan of the apocalyptic, and maybe you'll get different judges at your contest. While I was writing this letter I successfully put off looking at a monster in my backyard for two hours, a phycial monster that has been with me for two months, in one form or another.; my physical monster is a large tree that has fallen over, and lays not only in my yard, but in my neighbor's. Full disclosure, my wife and I both sleep with monsters. I always thought her bigger monster, because I once subscribed to Cosmopolitan to gain insight on "the other side", was her mother. But of late I've discovered her bigger, more currently pervasive monster, and the one that snores a lot louder, is called the "Dear God, he's becoming my father, and not best parts of my father, but the parts of my father that had me riding to school in a broken down truck with goats in the back father." And the monsters I sleep with? The not able monster and the not competent monster. Those monsters, I tell my wife, are infinitely more paralyzing and more real. But the Bride counters that her monster pisses her off far more. But she doesn't say 'pisses her off', at least in public, because She's a lady. See. Another ten minutes gone by. But only because I don't have Candy Crush downloaded on my phone.

That's it, Dragonslayer. get it done. And get a good night's sleep.

thus spake,

me.