Sandman and Carrie.
Sleep is like fishing, for me anyway. I take sleeping medicine, the cheap Walmart brand for four dollars, take two little blue pills and hook them well. I use a twenty-pound line, always threaded, always expensive. The television is tuned to King of Queens, courtesy of Peacock Streaming. The sitcom is comfortable with the warm opening theme song, reminding me of my younger days, not to mention a deep longing for my own Carie Heffernon. Water on the nightstand. Fan on. Then, only then, when the atmosphere is aligned with the universe, I cast out my line.
An hour passes. The restless tingles prick my legs, so I stretch them out. Open the fridge. Should I drink a Pepsi Zero? Yes. Snap and gulp. Back to bed.
Two episodes have passed. Are Spencer and Danny supposed to be a gay couple? It seems like they're a gay couple without them being a gay couple. I think it's time to wash my sheets. There's a sweaty odor.
I reel in the line and check the hook. The pills are still good. Recast.
My eyes are shut this time. Thoughts float. I'll finish Norwegian Wood tomorrow if I can keep the distraction away. Fucking. Shit. Fucking. Boner achieved. Not really in the mood, though. Deadlines. Pearl Hart. Second act lull. Gotta beat in that second-act lull. The tingles returned. Ok, I'll sip another Pepsi Zero.
Slurp.
Should I jack off? No, damn it, not in the mood! Recast.
The fan switched over to heat. Bad idea. Now I'm sweating. Hence, the sheets. Six episodes have passed. Doug's hairline is receding. Two more episodes.
The tiles on my bathroom floor could use a mop, but the energy isn't there. It's just me, right? Who gives a shit? The toilet paper roll sits over a fresh roll. The cheap brand, only a dollar for four: Very thin and weak, but you get what you pay for.
Recast.
The sleeping pills start to hit like cocaine through the nostrils. My body jolts and spasms, a fierce fight against the Sandman. It finally loses, though, and as I pass through the gates of slumber, my last coherent thoughts are of how thick Carrie Heffernan looks in season eight.
Boner achieved. Fuck.
