I woke up this morning and immediately grabbed my phone. I had a Twitter notification and I was excited to see if it was associated with my most recent writing endeavors. Unfortunately I had approximately ten minutes to shower and leave for work, so my curiousity would have to wait. My lovely husband, as always, prodded me along through the daily battle of leaving my fuzzy blanket of protection and love, so that I may continue to feign my fully functional adult life with responsibilities and time clocks.
Guilty: I checked the notification in the car.
I was thrilled to find that the notification was from an online newsletter, and my most recent essay was chosen in elanmorgan.com’s Five Star Blog Roundup! You can find that link here:
Thrilled, I sent the link to my husband, sister, and very best friend.
This is my husband’s response. I think it might be his first attempt at a personal essay, and I absolutely love it.💞😂
Erin Nickels & The Hiller Affliction*
By Jarrad Nickels
Why does one clench their eyes closed until the very last minute? When our now digital clocks figuratively click the seconds always. Only to rise in a non euphoric state to then realize your majestic black bear of a husband fudged the time just to give you an extra few minutes.
As you return to an upright position you reach for the last place you think you left your hand held device. Sometimes you can grab it with your eyes closed. Sometimes … you have slept on it. The device forms to your hand and you close one eye and squint with the other as the sonic glow pierces and stings your retina. Then a jolt of emotion pole vaults through your awakening body when you see that you have … notifications. At this moment the clock is insignificant. The unplanned outfit that awaits amongst the laundry abyss means nothing.
Is it meaningful, did I miss something important, is it another distant high school Birthday? Before you even travel down the cold wooded floor of your hallway to see if your children are breathing we all hit that red fucking number.
The time flys like frantic bees around their hive. The socks are never paired but you hope that you going to reach in and with the grace of god grab a match. The endless path of linen destruction that is left is astounding. The wet foot prints mimic the misunderstood Jason Voorhess.
A voice bellows down the hallway “7:45!”
The voice is of a gorilla angel reminding me to stay on task and he cares. He knows that at 8 he will be picking up yesterday’s outfit along with the jaw dropping amount of towels used for one person to shower. However the gorilla still doesn’t fling poo because he is in love.
I love this man. Endlessly. Great job on your first “blog entry” Jarrad 💞
*Hiller- My Maiden Name
Hiller Affliction- The inability to wake up, regardless of alarm clocks, shaking, yelling, earthquakes, tsunamis, and/or any other extreme measure taken in an attempt to wake the sleeping beast (my sister and/or myself)