Brace yourselves. I'm sure at least some of you are expecting something mildly intellectual, what with the college student/intern I've got goin on, but where's the fun in that? It’s infinitely more fun to sit on this rather uncomfortable couch and see where my mind wanders running on seven hours of sleep in four days. Thank the good lord above for energy drinks and, well, more energy drinks. I guess coffee can fit in there as well.
Jesus H., last time I was this tired I was hallucinating. Wonder how long it’ll be until that starts up again good. Times. I was seventeen, and made the executive decision to offer emergency relief services to my best friend and his sister, who happened to be getting married. His sister was. To some guy with absolutely no family ties to my best friend. Thought I’d clear that up, because incest just aint kosher. Also fairly certain it’s illegal in at least nine states.
Right. So she’s getting married, and Danny (the best friend in need of relief services) decides to ask me for help. Being the model of chivalry that I am, I said yes. Bros before no’s people. Bros before no’s. Besides, how much work could this really be? It’s only a wedding. In the middle of finals week. Cake walk.
This is where my complete lack of understanding comes into play. Maybe it’s because I’m averaging about a hundred minutes of sleep a night. Maybe it’s because I’m a dude who will, in all honesty, wind up alone because dating until you die sounds infinitely superior to locking yourself into a situation where you will never win an argument again. Ever. Anyway, I can not for the life of me understand why people need high school students to put so much effort into matrimonial celebrations. Napkins? Who cares? Seriously. I’ve never met anyone who was rummaging through old wedding photos stop and say, “Those napkins are SO beautiful.” Maybe it’s just me.
Anyway, so I was the slave to crazy ass bride who made me lose sleep over napkins and invitations and whether the sun would hit the alter just right and blah blah blah. In between that I was spending WAY too much money on a tux which, I swear to Jonah, came with fleas. That thing itched more than anything has ever itched. And it made me melt like glaciers do in those cheesy apocalypse movies. Why does everyone insist on getting married in June? And more importantly, why do they insist on making me wear black?
I was going somewhere with that. Oh. Right. So by day, I was slaving away to set up the perfect wedding for my best friends sister, and by night I was trying to understand exactly how fast you have to go before time starts to dilate. And memorizing the precise chemical balance you need to make some crazy compound before you blow yourself up. And somewhere in there I fit in the entire history of the French never winning a war.
I’m French. I can say that.
Onto the hallucinations. So I was sitting amongst my academic comrades, and decided I need sustenance. So I got up and proceeded to the kitchen—except I wasn’t actually moving. Apparently I was just staring at the door, thinking I was getting closer and closer to a turkey sammich. Not exactly the most positive of signs. On the upside, I passed all my finals, even though I don’t remember actually taking any of them. I also slept for like three days straight, which means after all that inhumane servitude, I didn’t even go to the wedding. WTF right?
So that’s my incredibly long winded way of saying I’m REALLY tired right now, which reminds me of another time I was REALLY tired. Deep stuff, that.
I wonder how much longer until I start trippin again…