They were gone. All gone. The "make it up as we go along crew". The quintessential instinctive response of Actually deconstructing a wedgie, because well, you've got that figurative stick up your ass.
The room was quiet, the contentious fan with its propped up head, Ideally, the portion to be effectively rotated on the spindle, nodding intermittently in its own mechanical response time, like a nearly decapitated doll would by the puppeteering action of an already sloppy puppeteer.
The fan made me jittery.
It blew, wafting miserable Air across the room and stimulating goosebumps the moment it tickle-touched my Skin.
I was alone in the room. Thinking, can this colossal amount of self-awareness set you off? Render your "not-toast worthy butt"
Alit? I considered calling "the goons", quite distinct from "the roommates" but thought better of it. Those guys were basket cases, sick in the Head those fellas were.
And well, I thought abashedly, what would be said of me? Barely two days after relegation into solitary confinement and they'd find My own definition of an apt response "Bawling like a baby", "Having my External sphincter yanked out of my innards, so I'm peeing my pants on loop"(Not that that would matter), or say, "An Aichmophobe's Acupunctural session".
Getting my legs off the floor and stopping the intermittent pacing, I lay on my bed and began to play with myself.
Oh none of that, just the occasional tugs, the hair pulling kind of play. Thinking, this is an effective form of prestidigitation, the kind that precedes the kind of lullaby that precedes sleep.
I wake up fine and dandy, but damn by the time I find it handy to,
........ I go up, up".
I croon "ode to sleep" in the falsest falsetto. My beady eyes indefatigable, eternally transfixed to the ceiling. The wind an opposer, working to effect an irrepressible dimming of the light in my eyes. Surely intent on the drooping of My lids.
An antagonist in an Agon. My clear wide eyes subjugating unassuageable bones.
It was simply, Eyes Vs Sleep. And The cool breeze continued to drift through the window as if to say
"Go on, you could do it".
Glancing and inspecting warily, I see the adjacent curtains returning manifestly, the clear difference in time apparent from the outside.
This appears somewhat new to me.
Shall I call the goons? Or Is this a sideeffect of hypercortisonemia?
I'm starting to wish the fan would bespell me, render me stunned by means of Hypnosis. Yay, Hypnos!
Good Morning. But No phoner /boner jokes, You'd think it too early.
I pick up my phone and yours is the first contact that lights up my screen. I aim for the banal, my regular histronisms.
"Hello, it’s me Again", I say.
I think the nights scared of Me.