Monday is a royal pain. Except this Monday is pretty awesome. So it's like a royal pain that got a massage and is now happy.

So my friends, very little has been happening here at Chez Murphy.  Except for laundry.  That is a virus that never ends.

BUT, in my mind, my little book is slowly unfolding to be this super fun adventure starring a 16 year old girl named Deena.  Would you care to learn more?  Sure you would!  You're such a good sport.  Pull up a chair and I'll tell you more.  Unless you're Kim and have to stand.  More power to you, sister!  Also, I stood in the shower for 15 minutes today and tried to imagine how healthy my body was.  You have to read this to understand what I'm talking about.  Also, I'm sitting as I type this and I actually feel guilty.

Ok, so now that you're sitting/standing, let's get down to it.

So, there's this girl, named Deena and she dreams...

Yep.  That's all I'm going to tell you.  I know, I'm so mean.

Except, I'm going to include this one little scene, just for fun, for your reading enjoyment.  Unless you don't enjoy it and it's like reading punishment.  Either way, here it is:

***

Excerpt of Parasomnia, by Kearsie Murphy

I was heroically trying to cram biology facts into my sluggish brain one Thursday night, planning for an exam the next day when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

“Yeah, Dad, come on in.”  Who else would it be?  Ed McMahon?  The President?  

He was hanging out by the door, holding onto the doorknob and kicking the doorjamb. An image of a child like version of my dad popped in my head, what he must’ve looked like as a little boy trying to hide the fact he stepped on the cat or broke his grandmother’s cremation urn or something.

“Dad.  You just gonna stand there?”  I sat up on the bed and drew my legs closer to me.  I even patted the bed a bit, like I would to attract a stray cat.

He ambled in slowly and perched on the edge of the bed.  Every few moments he would open his mouth like he was going to say something, only to snap it shut.  Ugh!  It was like having a conversation with a goldfish.

“Can I have a puppy?” I blurted out, just to break the tension.

“Huh, what?” His eyes jerked to mine, finally.  “Deena, honey, I don’t think we can handle the responsibility.  Caring for an animal takes time, a lot of time and--”

“Dude,” I interrupted, my hand outstretched to stop his flow of words.  “It was just to get you talking.  Carry on.”  I made a magnanimous gesture, like a king from his throne.  

“Oh.”  His eyes fell to his feet again.  Silence again.

Geez!  This was so painful.  I was feeling sorry for the guy.  “Sooo, that Ms. Shaddy...she’s pretty awesome, huh?  A hottie, too.”

A flush fell over my dad’s cheeks, making him look about ten years younger.  Full of life.  Kind of cute, in a gross, old man sort of way.

“Dad,” I said more seriously.  “It’s ok.  She’s great.  Mom would’ve liked her.  I like her.  So just go for it.”  

He glanced up at me again, kind of shyly.  “You’re ok with me...um...dating her?”

I shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear indifferent.  “Sure.”  If hanging out with Ms. Shaddy brought my dad a sliver of happiness, what was I going to do?  Stand in his way? 

He sighed with relief and patted my foot before getting to his feet again.  Just before he crossed the threshold I called out, “Just don’t forget to use protection.”

Ha!  The look on his face!

My cell phone rang just as the door shut with a click.  It was Hester.  No doubt calling to ask me something inane like “do you think Ethan and I should run away and elope and change our names to Bernadette and Clarence?”  

“Yo,” I said, tucking my cell phone between my ear and shoulder and propping open my textbook against my raised thighs.  

“Deena!”  She sounded panicked.  As per usual.  “I need a huuuuge favor!”  

Ugh.  The last time Hester needed a “huge favor” it was to drive her to get a bikini wax.  

“What is it?  I’m studying Biology right now.  Every moment I talk to you is one step closer to failing and it'll be all your fault.”  So I was being dramatic.  It was the only language Hester understood.

“It’s about Junior Prom,” she began.  My stomach was already plummeting.  “I’ve got to fly to New York for my great-aunt’s funeral and I’m going to miss Prom!”

“So what does this have to do with me?”  I asked, twirling my pen like a drummer twirls a drumstick.  I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.  I had an idea where this was going.

“I need you to go, of course!  I can’t let a perfectly good formal dress and Prom tickets go to waste!  And Ethan...he’ll be so disappointed to miss it…”

Seriously?  I let my head fall back towards the wall, solid thunk resonating in the room.  “Hess...I don’t want to go to Prom.  I told you that last week.  In fact, I’d rather go see the gynecologist AND get a root canal in the same day than go to Prom.”

“You’re ruining my life!” she wailed.  Melodramatic Female, table for one, I thought, rolling my eyes.  “And stop rolling your eyes!” 

I jerked my head up.  How the heck did she know I was rolling my eyes?  I searched around the room, looking for a nanny cam.  “How did you-”

“Ugh, Deena, you’re so predictable!  Look, I’ll be over in half an hour to drop off my shoes and dress and walk you through the plans, ok?  It’ll be fun!  I promise!  Did I mention you’re the bestest friend and I’ll love you forever and ever?  Bye!”  Hester’s voice turned from accusatory and wheedling to sugary sweetness.  Before I could protest again, she hung up.

I tossed my phone down on the bed and let my head thunk up against the wall again. 

Prom with Ethan.  Dressed up.  With Ethan.  Pictures and dinner.  With Ethan.  Dancing.  With Ethan.

In his arms.  

I tried not to shiver.

***

P.S.  Please don't steal my little excerpt.  Or make complete fun of it.  Or eat the last sleeve of Ritz crackers in my pantry.