I stumbled upon a silly observation the other night on the way to see my family physician; an observation of the silliest kind as you shall hear to determine for yourself. Though before conveying to you this story, I must give notice to the short-sighted reader: It is in your best interest to refuse the silliness of this observation to fool thy senses; complexity lurks beneath its silly surface. Furthermore, let the sharp reader be forewarned: The observation you await is to be disclosed with complete and outright disregard for the conventions of communicating observations. Listen with an open mind and a jolly spirit.

The story of my silly observation ought to begin with the laying out of the observation’s context within the happenings of my life. Though I hesitate to disclose my affairs during the discovery of this silly observation for fear of insinuating myself with a shameful act, the silliness of this observation begs that I accept this brief dance with embarrassment. So, I will begin. The night before Christmas during this past calendar year, while my father slept soundly in his room and my mother nervously fiddled with a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen, I fell victim to a spell of nausea. Nausea! What a strange thing! Afraid for my health and that of my family, I withdrew from my slumber, slipped on my gown and slippers, snuck past my mother in the kitchen, and upon stepping into the silent night, bolted for my family physician.

When I happened upon her doorstep, I knock-knock-knocked three times expecting one would awaken the madam from her dormancy. And this is when, my friends, as a bolt of lightening strikes an unexpected tree, the silly observation struck me. Upon the third knock-knock-knock it suddenly occurred to me: “How is it that I fear things I have never seen before?” The observation startled me, but I knew it was the type of insight that reveals itself only once to fortunate minds, and never at all to others. I determined to hold on to it.

Suddenly, I heard the clonking of my physician’s feet making their way towards the door. Ballocks! For fear of losing hold of my observation in the rapids of stimulus, I leapt head first into the hedges to the right of the door. I had no other choice! An encounter with anyone certainly would have been fatal to my mission, let alone an encounter with a physician!

The front door creaked open with a slow initial push that accelerated as it became apparent to the physician that nobody stood behind it. My heart pounded in my chest. Before making herself apparent under the dim, yellow lantern above her doorstep, I could barely make out what the physician uttered under her breath: “Goodness gracious, what could this be about?” Rats! Her words nearly wrenched me from the observation that I continued to cling to with all of my strength. My predicament became clear. I resolved that on the count of three I would make a break for it back home to record the observation in my journal.

One.

The physician’s face finally became evident under the dreary light above her door. My nausea escalated at the sight of it. I had almost forgotten why I had ran there in the first place!

Two.

The physician began to speak into the void: “Who is there? Do not be ashamed, child of the night; the late call of illness is nothing to be sorry about!”

Three.

I darted from the bush directly at the physician. The expression upon her face quickly changed from the that of a welcoming physician to that of a threatened homeowner. As she began to scream bloody murder, I summersaulted down the stairway and descended, unrecognized, back into the darkness of night. I kept myself from turning to look back, but I could tell by the thud that reverberated throughout the town that the physician had fainted in a fit of excitement. As I ran home, I wondered whether my family should reconsider accepting the services of this dubious physician. I determined to discuss it with my family first thing in the morning.

As I approached my house, I could see that the light in the kitchen had been turned off and that my mother was now awaiting me, rocking back and forth in her wooden rocking chair on the front porch. Drawing closer, I turned my focus to developing a story explaining where I had been, hoping not to blemish her image of me as a classy individual, but my mother was too quick to ask the question: “Son, I see you are running from something, and at his hour of the night such follies is a cause of great concern in my mind. I would hate to have my understanding of your classy character in my mind baselessly stained by my own assumptions of your whereabouts, so I must inquire: What are you running from?”

The framing of her question in terms of my running sabotaged my plan to deceive her into thinking I had been scavenging for night-blooming flowers. Instead, I gave an impromptu response: “Mother, I see that my running causes you great distress, but hoping that you will see the humor in this misunderstanding, I declare to you that there is no need for worry. I was only running from a damsel that had chased me all throughout the town. She had spotted me sleepwalking along the river and thought it imperative to awaken me lest I drown. She was quick to recognize me upon the opening of my eyes, and thinking fate had placed us together this Christmas Eve, she confessed her love for me. Certain that I had never met this particular girl in my life, I thought it proper to run away.”

The panic in my mother’s eyes quickly faded as my story came to an end. I had not only successfully fooled her of my whereabouts, but had even further confirmed my classiness in her mind. She beckoned me inside with the nod of a head, and there I returned.

Frantically, fearing my observation had already gone under into the depths of my unconscious, I ran to my study to grab a red pen, and unable to locate a simple piece of paper, I began to scrawl directly onto my desk. However, after writing the first few words with which I begin every journal entry, I realized that the silly observation had escaped my mind! Blasted! All that remained of the observation was an image in my mind’s eye; an image, unfortunately, that I had attributed to thousands of other observations I had sought to remember before.

I spent hours attempting to recall the thoughts that strung the moment of my silly observation to the present, but my mind grew wearier and the string kept growing longer. So, as the sun began to rise that Christmas Day, I settled with only half of the silly observation that I was able to recollect and wrote it upon my desk: “How is it that I fear things I ha.”