Fatigue of the highest order

Emeril was bamming in front of me. His food must have been some form of ambrosia.

My wife was breathing next to me. What she had to offer…we’ll not discuss that.

Everything seemed ripe for a night of carnal pleasure. Then I felt the nudge.

“Huh?” I said, a little confused.

“You were snoring. Loudly.”

My wife was rolling over. What she had to offer…that thing we’re not discussing…well, she wasn’t much up for discussing anymore. And Emeril was putting the finishing touches on the ambrosia.

Simply put…I fell asleep while in a near-sitting position.

I’m just tired. I have officially pushed my body past the point of tolerance. I’m cooked. I’m Caspar. I’m done.

I slept for 12 straight hours last night. My neck is a mass of strained tendons. Soon, I will recover.

I just hope my wife doesn’t marry Emeril before I wake up.

Brad Willis

Brad Willis is a writer based in Greenville, South Carolina. Willis spent a decade as an award-winning broadcast journalist. He has worked as a freelance writer, columnist, and professional blogger since 2005. He has also served as a commentator and guest on a wide variety of television, radio, and internet shows.

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