Shaun Lewis: the Man, the Myth, the Legend

It’s very early Thursday morning.

Well, it’s another late night and I’m not in bed once again. I really should look into sleeping pills or something. I haven’t been down with the whole premise of “morning” lately. I try to wake up in the morning, but it just never happens. Apparently, the new alarm clock I bought is very easy to turn off in your sleep; I really should invest in a device that requires a little more intricate work to power it down. An alarm clock with the off switch built inside the unit—that’s what I need. Of course, such a switch would be a waste of money because I would still find a way to foil my attempts at rising at dawn.

I’m quite the con artist when it comes to fooling myself into sleeping longer.

I have gotten a lot accomplished despite my sleeping habits. For one, I sent my iPod into to be fixed. That’s right, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am without my trusty music device. Truly, I feel naked. I’m hoping I will be much happier when I get it back. The battery had definitely started to lose its ability to hold a charge, so I thought it was time to send the beast in and get it fixed. Yeah, for the record, that is a problem that Apple has with their iPods; the batteries don’t last long if you don’t care for them pretty well. Make sure you purchase the extended warranty if you buy an iPod. It’s like $50 or so, but it’s worth it.

In addition to the whole iPod thing, there is one more thing I’ve managed to do this past week and that’s get questioned by police twice.

Yes, that’s right. I was questioned by the police, not once, but twice. I could make a joke here about how I look exactly like an armed criminal in my light blue Columbia jacket, but really I don’t feel like it. I think such a joke would belittle both myself and the jacket. I’m not out to belittle the jacket. It’s quite warm.

I digress though.

The first time I got stopped was during my 2 o’clock in the morning “Walk of Shame” chronicled in an entry prior to this one (aptly titled “My Walk of Shame“). The second time was just a few hours ago on yet another late night walk. I’m just a rebel, I guess.

Ladies, this is where you swoon.

Actually, and this is where I ruin any chance of ever becoming any sort of rebel, I’m kind of concerned that I will be labeled as a village scoundrel—a ruffian of sorts, if you will. What is more troubling about this is that no one has used the words “scoundrel” or “ruffian” in conversation since 1912. I’m stuck in the past, I guess.

Yeah, though. I no longer abide by the rules.

My next step is obvious: an armed robbery. One of two things will happen during that robbery; either I’ll get arrested and go to jail or I’ll narrowly escape town hidden in an empty boxcar after a botched job. Soon thereafter, I’ll make it to New England where I’ll have to learn the noble ways of the hobo in order to survive. Then, I’ll grow a scruffy beard and start carrying around a stick with a bindle tied on one end that contains all my worldly possessions. Finally, I will die a broken and hungry man living in the streets of New York.

Some of you said I would never amount to anything. Looks like I’ll show you.

I love the fact that I imagined all that after just getting asked what I was doing by police twice. In fact, the second time the questioning wasn’t even that thorough. It was the same officer and I’m pretty sure he remembered me. Being remembered probably isn’t a good thing, but oh well, I guess. Free spirits like myself live life on the edge. We brush complaints from the law off our shoulders and shirk all responsibility to be good citizens as if they were nothing. A hearty breed we are, indeed.

Just don’t tell my mom about all this.