I find myself doing this thing lately when I can't sleep - which is increasingly often. If I'm laying in bed and have been for a while, I'll imagine all of the things that might happen if I don't get out of bed. Some of them are reasonable, like if I never get out of bed, I might get really hungry since I have to get up to eat. Others are less reasonable... This morning, for example, I laid in bed for a good hour and a half or so, and the better portion of that time was spent imagining all of the ways I could be responsible for the house burning down if I don't get out of bed. Seems like a remote possibility, I know, that if I don't move an inch, the house could spontaneously burst into flames... but roll with me for a second: If I don't get up, it could cloud over by this afternoon. A spring thunderstorm might sweep through Austin, filling the creek behind the house, and snapping thunder overhead. If I'm still in bed (and starving at this point) it's possible that lightning could hit the tree outside, dropping a flaming dead limb on the house. It would quickly burn through the roof and the house would go up in smoke. Not that me getting out of bed could prevent that scenario, I'm not superwoman or anything, the most I could do to prevent catastrophe is weakly try to pull the limb down off the roof or dial 911, but at least if I was out of bed by then, the house wouldn't burn with me inside.
Another fiery possibility... while I'm laying here, listening to the veritable forest canopy outside this tree house, a hobo could scale the back patio... rummage through the contents of the washer and dryer, then let himself in the unlocked sliding glass door. Once inside, he could decide he wants some toast, and not finding a toaster, preheat the oven. While he's getting the bread ready for toasting, he might see the plethora of alcoholic drinks in the fridge, and, unable to stop himself, drink all of it while sitting on the couch watching TMZ. As he snoozes on the couch, the bread catches fire in the oven and sparks a kitchen fire that burns the whole house down. I die with celebrity gossip ringing in my ears. At least this scenario could be prevented by me getting my ass out of bed and locking the back door... or at least posting myself as sentry on the couch. I might deter a few toast-seeking hobos.
The third scenario I'll offer up involves these obese squirrels that seem intent on waking me up in the first place. It's like they can read my mind, and know that if they wake me up early, I'll sit in bed listening to them scamper for quite a while. I'm pretty sure every animal in Austin is in better shape than me, they all walk, ride, skate or something... except these squirrels. These are the fattest squirrels I've ever seen. They have chubby cheeks, and bellies that hang down below their hind paws, and if you catch them off-guard while eating... I swear they look guilty, like they know they should exhibit some self-control and have a carrot instead of the fatty nuts they're chowing down on. Anyway, these chubby squirrels chase each other across the roof all day. I have problems with squirrels, especially if they are doing something annoying like playing dead dramatically, or running across the roof at breakneck speed... but I just know that these fatsos in particular could eventually be responsible for my death by fire if they ran down the back patio, noticed the laundry room was open, and went in to take a look around. They'd be unable to resist the temptation of the insulation on the washer and dryer wire, I mean it's clear they have problems with impulse control, and they'd begin munching immediately. Insulation must be like cake to these fat kids, so they'd binge and expose the wires and the next time I do laundry, voila - electrical fire. This one is a little problematic in that I'd have to get out of bed to do the laundry, so I'm actually doing myself a favor by staying there. If I don't get up, I can't be the next apparatus in the Rube-Goldberg reaction that will surely cause me to die in a fire...
These are the things I ponder while staring at the ceiling fan, and I don't find them extraordinarily odd, just a brand of insomniac-odd.