Midnight Munchies

2:38 AM
People have made tougher decisions in life. Like that Soviet soldier who ignored his computer telling him America was nuking the shit out of his country, chalking it up as a glitch in the system. Nuclear armageddon, avoided. Nice job, Soviet dude.

But that’s history, and history is only relevant on a full stomach. A full stomach is something I lack.

First, a geological survey. I’m in my bed. Beyond this cozy sanctity, across my room, down a flight of stairs, and through the frozen tundra also known as my kitchen tiles lies the Cupboard. This is my destination.

2:45 AM
I stick out a probing hand, feeling the conditions like a sailor navigating the seas on nautical intuition. It’s cold.

“But not too cold”, my stomach growls in response.

I hesitate. Breakfast is only few hours away. “It is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, that is poor,” I tell my stomach, giving myself a mental fist bump. “Seneca.”

“Feed me you little bitch,” my stomach counters. Even the Stoics don’t have a rebuttal to that.

I solemnly hug my pillow goodbye, and slither out from my blanket’s wistful embrace. I pad through the plush carpet of my room. This is the DMZ. Beyond this, wilderness.

2:46 AM
It is quiet outside, illuminated only by the sinister gaze of the moon. I fumble around for the lights. I push one, and the loft lights up. I turn that off, and push another switch, turning off my room lights. Damnit, this always happens. Finally, I push the right switch, putting an end to the impromptu light show. The stairs, illuminated, descend into the darkness of my kitchen. Something beckons devilishly.

“Wouldn’t it be really fucking scary if a face popped up in that window over there?” My brain innocently asks.

“Well, yes, but that’s highly unlikely.”

“But it’s still technically possible… right?” My heart thumps loudly in agreement.

2:47 AM
In front of me is the Cupboard. I open it and scan the shelves. Not much, but I procure an anticipatory jar of Nutella.

2:48 AM
I’m refreshing my Facebook feed. How did I get here? Alas, I tentatively wait for the spinner to do its spinning. No new notifications. Right, people are asleep; I’m not in college anymore.

2:50 AM
In front of me is the Fridge. I open it and scan the shelves. Not much, but I extract a questionable loaf of bread.

2:55 AM
Nutella-frosted stale bread complete. A hallmark of culinary innovation. The proverbial breakfast of champions. Michelin recommended at the very least.

I casually turn off the kitchen lights. A sudden chill sweeps through the empty space. I am in an entirely different world now, a world I do not belong to. I sprint up the stairs, bounce my hand off the light switch and slam the door to my room. I dive into my bed, under the sheets, heart pounding, but safe. I am greeted by the residual warmth my bedding has carefully guarded for me.

2:56 AM
I eat my bread and Nutella. Crumbs fall on my bed, but I do not care. Life is good.