There Was No Sand In My Eyes

Ordinarily, I sleep pretty damn good.  Better than the proverbial baby.  Or perhaps more accurately, like a corpse.  I’m not entirely sure if it’s the weather or maybe because my job is sucking the life out of me, but all I’ve been wanting to do lately is sleep.

I’ve decided it’s probably a combination of the two.  Doesn’t fucking matter.  I’m just glad that for the past several months, Mr. Sandman has had no need to visit my bedroom.  Until last night, or more precisely at 3:00 AM.  Everyone knows the feeling of lying in bed, tossing and turning like Linda Blair on meth.

Here are some of the thoughts that ran through my gray matter whilst lying there, hoping above all hope, that Mr. Sandman would break into my house and douse my eyes with sand.

  • I should get up and pee.
  • Fuck it, I’m too lazy.
  • Water might be good about now, seeing as my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.
  • Fuck it, I’m too lazy.
  • I’d actually cut off my left arm if that would prevent me having to get up and go to work today.
  • I’d even cut off my left boob for a chance to piss on my bosses desk.
  • If there’s ever a zombie apocalypse, I’ll be ready.  Thanks Walking Dead.
  • Andrew Lincoln is so fucking hot.
  • *has several erotic thoughts about Andrew Lincoln*
  • Maybe I should pleasure myself.
  • Fuck it, I’m too lazy.

(At this point, due to all my tossing and turning, Cat #1 walks into the room meowing.  In his mind, if I’m awake, there’s a potentiality for food.)

  • I wish I was a cat.  Those 2 fuckers have it made.  Eat, sleep, piss, shit.  What a glorious life.
  • I wonder if Cat #1 would be afraid of a zombie?  Doubtful.  He’s about as cool as a cat can get.
  • Cat #2 would shit himself.  If the wind blows too hard, he’s having a minor stroke.
  • I really need to start exercising again.  Maybe when it gets warm out.
  • Who am I fucking kidding?  It’s never going to be warm again!  We’ll be forever stuck in this perpetual fucking polar vortex.
  • Maybe I should just get up and play Candy Crush.
  • Fuck it!  I’m on level 347 and this is clearly the level that decided to consult with the devil on.  “Um yes, Mr. Lucifer, we will pay you with a  years worth of Hot Sauce if you can develop level 347 for us.  We don’t care which type of level it is as long as it brings the good folks to the brink of insanity.”
  • ♪ In a Gadda Da Vidda Baby ♪
  • I wish Cat #1 would jump up here and purr me to sleep.
  • Fuck it, he’s too lazy.

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