Is Joleen Just Batshit Crazy?
The next day, Joleen could not get motivated to do anything, not even continue working on an elaborate Dream Catcher with an intricate weave in its ring and an array of beautiful feathers hanging from it. She didn’t even change into clothes – she just went in her pajamas and robe to Jack’s red and blue plaid La-Z Boy and plopped into it and sat in it for hours, staring into the middle distance and trying to come up with some kind of explanation for what was going on.
And just exactly what was going on? She wasn’t sure. Either Jack had an accident that affected his speech and thought patterns, or he didn’t. Maybe it was a dream. She’d always had such vivid dreams, even as a child. They say a lot can happen in a dream in just a few seconds of dreaming.
But if that was true, where was Jack? Sometimes he liked to go puttering without purpose in the garage, like randomly nailing two boards together then prying them apart. She was forever telling him to make sure the garage door is closed lest the neighbors could see his pecker poking out in front of his robe. Strangely enough, she found herself wanting to see just exactly that. She opened the door to the garage, but no – no Jack. She made sure her robe was secured around her and opened the garage door. His blue Cruze was gone. He’d gone to work.
Now she had to confront it. She’d gone mad, just plain batshit crazy.
When Jack got home after work, he found Joleen still in her robe and slumped in the La-z Boy just like he left her. Highly irregular, he thought. She was usually bustling about busily tidying up and working on her arts and crafts projects or watching the Real Housewives of Orange County. She tried to get him to watch the series with her once, but it was just too stupid for him – a thought he kept to himself.
“Hi hon! Are you okay?”
“Yes … well. Jack, do you think I’m crazy?”
“Why would I think that? Are you sure you’re okay? Are you sick?”
“I’m not sick. So, you do think I’m crazy?” She almost wished he’d say yes.
“Oh God, no. You’re probably just feeling run-down, you work so hard at a stressful job. Didn’t you take someone’s twelve-hour shift yesterday? Seven days straight you’ve worked. You just rest up and I’ll go make my world-famous homemade Chicken Noodle Soup for the Soul.”
“I’m not really hungry, but okay.” Joleen thought, well, he does make good soup, maybe that will do it. She ate it and went to bed early. She slept fitfully with lucid dreams about Jack falling off the roof, about Jack and his precious motor oils, about Jack in the hospital, about Jack and his silly rhymes, about Jack getting kicked out of the church’s Bible, Guns and Ammo Fellowship, and certainly not least about his everlasting erection. When she woke up, she looked for it – still gone. Dammit.
Jack woke up, yawned, stretched and reached for Joleen, but she had already gotten up. He thought, poor dear, she had had such a rough week. He put on his robe and went to find her in the La-Z boy just rocking back and forth, back and forth.
“Hi hon. You feeling better today? You don’t look so good. You’re not working today, are you?”
“Huh? Oh, no, not working today. You just go on ahead to work. I’ll be … um, okay.”
Copyright © Johnny Clack 2022
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