A Burst of Flash Fiction--"My Dreaded Pleasure"

Happened again! In bed too late, overslept in the a.m., missed work (some, not all, but groggily performed). I hate it when I’m snagged. Can’t help it. Powerless when it hits me. I can be in the same spot at other times with no ill effects. Good night’s sleep. Alert on arising. Mindless of time at work, to the point of being late for dinner. I track each occurrence with a pseudo-scientific star rating. Five, “Beware.” Threes, no problem. This brainy system keeps me sane, an alert employee, happily married—most of the time. Until it hits. No one to blame. Just me, hoping not to get caught. I know what I like and sniff around temptation, drawn to it like a . . . . brain’s fogged, make up your own simile. Still it’s pretty rare, all things considered. When I creep into the high fours, I know I’m in grave danger (loss of sleep, defective production, “Don’t bother me, Honey”). I even pray—last resort of a half-baked believer: “Not a five! Thank you, God or god or Krishna,” whoever’s protecting me on temptation’s path. Close call. Let me be honest with you, though, not even prayer can help me when I’m in the throes of a can’t-put-it-down novel.

(c) 2017 by Alfred J. Garrotto
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