Apparently, the story goes as follows. John, on his way out the door in a rush to get to work, unlocked his car. However, rather than hitting the button on his automatic key chain with an "unlocked" figure, he accidentally pressed the red "alarm" button. In his startled shock and panic, he jumped and his keys went flying into the nearest bush. Panicked now, he quickly realizes he'll never be able to find the keys in the bush in time, so he rushes back inside to find his spare set to turn the alarm off and rush to work. However, upon meeting me at the bottom of the stairs, it becomes quickly obvious to both he and myself that he has no idea where his spare set of keys are.
Naturally, I did know. So, without saying anything, I promptly found them walked outside, barefoot and clothed in nightgown, and turned the alarm off. In short, I saved the day . . . or morning at least. It was quite a nice feeling as well, and afterwards gave me more than enough to chuckle about. I mean, John, one rarely gets to see him in this light; all disheveled, panicked, and flustered all to hell. In most cases, I'm usually the one in that position, and he's the calm, precise, and ever-neat rock that holds my chaos in place. Most people might consider him a cyborg of sorts, since he is quite robotic . . . with more than a smidgen of type-A personality, all of which I find even more intriguing given he's an artist, and aren't they all supposed to be disheveled and zany?
Well, since he was already late, John called into work and said he wouldn't be in until noon. I don't think he's in any mood to be around people . . . or perhaps he just has to reboot his cyborg systems from their overload and crash. Whichever, before I head into campus we're going to enjoy some blueberry-peach tarts and generous cups of coffee. But before that, I think I'll drift back into the daze of morning sleep.