Tag Archives: Sleep

StoryTime…Yay! (part II)

…see, it’s possible.

my most recent ‘to be continued’ is not a lie of an optimistically well-intentioned egg fertilized by the sperm of bad memory, apathy and drunken lethargy.

I swallow (and never spit… even during a calorie-free obsessive period) the cute little white swimmy-tads contained in the opalescent jizz that regardless of boy, seems consistently infused with the essence of brie… cheese. glug, glug, glug, gag, glug… deepthroat. Hey, if one can’t be a natural bulimic, why not work the gag reflex to… advantage… I don’t even fuckin’ know.

I’ve totally digressed. Metaphor has become literal and distraction has become… a crutch.

So, without further adieu:

STORYTIME… YAY! (PART II)

Again, I do not know if I’m tired. But after an unknown amount of time in the cold cold holding cell, I decide that I will sleep until I am freed… which shouldn’t be longer than a couple of hours, the guard assures me. Yeah, okay… people that work for the government, in public facilities [ie DMV, prison, healthcare clinics] never know what they are talking about. But naive, new-to-this-whole-jail-thing, me, I do not know this just yet. So, by this time, a couple of additional people are put into the holding cell, including a chick in what seems to be a prom dress-like apparatus who is a completely entitled drunk bitch that belittles the guards. The guards tell us that this is the only opportunity for us to make local calls for free. As my phone was sitting snuggly in my apartment; the only local numbers I have memorized are the cell #’s of the producers that I work for & the office. Not a good idea.

Most of the people I know, myself included, that live out here have some sort of out-of-state number. This is not free. And Jasen, my sort of friend that has vowed to protect me in any situation [without my asking or real wanting], ironically lives pretty close in Glendale … but I do not know his number off-hand. Oh well, I should be released in maybe seven hours, at the most. At this point, we are lined up, released from the holding cell and told to walk down the hall, and around corners. We are separated into two groups; by felony and misdemeanor. There are two guards. I move to the felony line. The guard that told me that I would be released in a few short hours tells me to go back to the other line. I feel better. This is when I start to realize that people don’t know what they are talking about. Because I say something about, “Um I think I’m charged with a felony”. The guard looks at the pink slip that I was given and is all, “well, look at that.” Then looks at me. “She right” she says to the other guard in her high-level Ebonics.

And so, we pick up our scratchy blankets and useless sheets. The jail cell sliiiides open and we enter. It is somewhat dark… this is both positive and negative. We walk down the middle of two rows of horizontally and much too closely positioned bunk-style beds with vinyl/plastic-y gym-mat mattresses. This is sort of cool. But the coolness of the bunk bed can in no way, this time, trump the fact that there are no cool ladders to climb or child-like colors but rather an exposed toilet and an arsenal of middle-aged women already in there. I take the second to last high bunk stage-right, contacts positively stuck like transparent colorforms to my eyeballs. Hoisting myself up with just my arms makes me feel youthful, lithe and childlike. So, I win for a second.

Before the guard sliiiides the cell shut, she asks if we would like the large television on. We do not have control of the channels as it is mounted somehow outside of the cell. Though I still do not know if I’m tired, as mentioned before, I’ve decided that I would sleep until this whole thing was over… so I assertively, though kindly say no… everyone else assertively though also somewhat kindly says, “yes”. So, I lose for the moment but I wouldn’t know just how severely until after I’ve seen all the current commercials for soy products, osteoporosis, motherhood, Pantene and all things celebratory of woman-hood 50x over. Estrogen-Nation exists in the Van Nuys prison.

Again, To Be Continued…

Bookmark and Share

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

Breakfast.

Literally, one breaks the fast. A meal consumed that breaks or is a break of the fast induced by the human circadian rhythm (ie sleep).

It’s like… I’m waking… in a perpetual state of waking. This passive construct of the “-ing”. aluhghahh… passive constructs kill me. As a young writer, negatively reinforced away from the passive construct, I cringe while I read any word anywhere that ends in an “ing”. You know, in a twisted pseudo-Pavlovian mind-fuck.

Hey man, atleast I’m not drooling.

But the thing is, within the passivity of it all… this wake (ing)… this continuous motion, slow and half-conscious and foggy, maybe in all of my sophistication, I’ve rendered myself somewhat useless in detecting the small small slight non-horizontal non-lateral moment that may be currently taking place. Maybe some headway is being made. Ya dig?

Just because I’m still in that “changing states” state of wake (ing) doesn’t mean that the aforementioned concept and general home doesn’t have within it increasing levels.

It’s just that the proverbial breakfast to possibly follow is soooo bright and stringent and complicated that the wrestle out of wake (ing) appears so very simple in comparison. And when something seems simple… one forgets that there is a progression. Especially when the simple seems so difficult to one.

WAKE UUUUUPPPP!!!!

You just fuckin’ wake up. That’s it.

But, no maybe.

I continue to gain an increasing level of consciousness. Like, metaphorically or whatever. Still wake (ing)… yes, and that’s boring. But, maybe that’s just how it is.

The breakfast thing is sooo far away. It seems so far away. None of this is literal, mind you. It’s just that breakfast seems like a different animal… discontinuous… like a dream.

How can I be expected to take on this animal while I’m still not even fully awake?

But maybe we’ve learned something here… that it maybe slow. It is slow for your author here. Right now. I just… it’s like…

I’d like to be on with it already. But, if I can’t even deal with wake, every step of breakfast… all the choices and then dealing with the consequences of these choices.

…I’m like pre-school here. Swinging on the monkey bars in Alphabetland.

…but I was the cutest lil kid in Alphabetland.

 

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Clinical Trial [part #1]

Friday, 26 Dec 2008

6:34am PST: I wake up at this absurdly early hour. I look at the clock… notice that it is absurdly early. Decide in my groggy state that the world is not worth my dreams and fall back asleep.

8:15am PST: Again, absurdly early, I wake. I look at the clock and wonder why it’s medically impossible for me to sleep for an undisturbed period of a week. I check my computer to see if my season #2 of House is finished downloading itself. And see that it’s not. boo! What else to do but sleep.

1:30pm PST: Wake. Now, it’s a bit late. But college students do it all the time. I, however, am no longer in college. It’s okay and not okay. It really doesn’t matter. It is what it is.

On the bright side, two sequential episodes have successfully downloaded.

I watch Episode #203.

2:10pm PST: I am at a loss for what to do. It’s a good show and makes the juices flow. In my brain. Damaged or not. I won’t say that I like it. I’m just saying, I might like it, sometimes. Maybe.

I have red wine that sits next to my tall mini-fridge. Red wine will make me sleepy. And all those sulfates. $40 bottle Lasorda wine gift or not, it doesn’t seem like a good high at all. So, now, I think it’s the appropriate time to formally introduce to you my pharmacopeia. I have Vicodin in dwindling supply, Vicodin always makes me want to puke. This is useful had I eaten alot of food. But I have not. Then there is the Dexedrine, which, in it’s spanule carnation, works very similarly to Adderall. Which is great! Seriously. Much cleaner high. But I have to wait. Then, there’s Adderall, Dexedrine but dirty. Like an STD infested hooker, instead of an escort service. But still, you’d have to wait. Then, there is Klonopin, which I’ve, as of recent, been popping like chalky little Neco wafers. Usually in conjuction with Vicodin and always at night.

So, now what? I take the Ibuprophen 800, because I need something to pop. Hmm, there’s also Amoxicillin. Wrongly prescribed. And I bet generally innocuous. But fuck it. I’m not a fan of future antibiotic resistant infection because I felt the need to pop something.

2:33pm PST: I think it might be time for a shower.

 

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: