Magill Strikes Again

I woke up this morning and my electric bedroom clock said it was 3:30. As in the afternoon. I immediately suspected that Gill had changed it to trick me, because I NEVER sleep into the afternoon. Ever. It makes me feel guilty for wasting daytime.

I asked him if it was a trick.

“No,” he replied, “You must have just been really, really tired.”

I looked out the window. It was overcast and it could very well have been 3:30, judging from the sky.

Gill looked at his cell phone. “It’s 3:30pm, alright.”

“Wow, that sudden storm must have really taken it out of me! It’s like sleep ripped through me like that wind ripped through our neighborhood!”


Then I told him all about the series of complicated and vivid dreams I’d had, involving a horse that turned into a man when I gave him a bowl of milk, attending a writing workshop with Catherynne Valente, and being unable to find the National Arts Centre in order to meet my parents there.

Then I got up and walked into the kitchen and discovered that the power had gone off in the night and it was really 9:30 in the morning.

And… I was almost disappointed. Think of all the even more vivid and complicated dreams I could have had if I HAD slept until 3:30 in the afternoon!

4 thoughts on “Magill Strikes Again

      • I’ll see what I can do, given popular demand! Maybe an each uisge story…. though “milk horse” doesn’t have the dame dignity as “water horse.” Also, I can’t remember the Gaelic for milk…

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