Beep Beep, Gimme Sleep

Editor's note: This was originally posted on MySpace at 0105 EST on 25 January, 2007.


It is now thirty-eight minutes into the witching hour, this twenty-fifth of January in the year of your Lord two thousand and seven.

I want to go to sleep. I wanted to go to sleep three hours and seven minutes ago. I wound down my activities. I finished my little IM-chatty conversations. I said good night to my girl... she was very pleased that I was going to get some sleep. So was I, for that matter. It just didn't turn out that way. I don't know why, though... I'm pretty sure I did all the right things, and yet here I am, typing.

It is now forty-two minutes into the witching hour, this twenty-fifth of January.

I want to go to sleep. Instead I just pounded in a coffin nail. If I had gone to sleep when I wanted to, it would have been ten cancer-sticks for the day. Now it's thirteen. Still not too bad, but I'm resenting those additional three. I should be sleeping, not damaging my health and ticking myself off.

It is now forty-nine minutes into the witching hour.

I want to go to sleep. I wanted to go to sleep nine hours and thirty-four minutes ago. I came home from school and I decided to take a nap. My eyeballs felt sticky, and I was pretty much running on caffeine consumed during class. You see, I didn't want to fall asleep during the phenomenal part two of Jason and the Argonauts. It would have been a pity if I had missed the guy fighting the claymation hydra, and hitting the rubber hydra tentacle prop with his wooden sword (it didn't work too well). I was fading fast. But I didn't take a nap. I tried. It just didn't happen.

It is now fifty-six minutes after midnight. Just four witching minutes left today, now.

I have to wake up rather early tomorrow. Actually, I have to wake up rather early later on this morning. Dr. Ray will be having his philosophical writing lecture, and will no doubt come in acting like a rock star of the David Bowie or Elton John stripe. I'm pretty sure he starts his day with a healthy dose of pure Colombian. (Everybody knows the best coffee comes from the South American nation of Colombia.) Dr. Ray is a fine professor. I am not a truck. I'm a steamroller, baby.

It is now four minutes after the hour of one, ante-meridian.

I want to go to sleep.

I need to go to sleep.