When you can’t sleep and it’s 4:00 in the morning there’s usually a reason, like your mind is racing or you’re in some type of pain — mental or physical — or there’s something unexplainable bothering you. Of course, it could be the steroids.
These lovely, magical, insane chemicals are tailor-made to keep the bad diseases at bay and fix me up right good so I can hop back into the ring. But they also help me do other things like eat insane amounts of food, experience temporary diabetes, poop like a porpoise and now sit awake at night trying to think of funny-sounding aquatic animals that I share similar digestive predilections with.
(Just for the record, I scratched “crap like a crab,” “s#@t like a seahorse” and “have an enema like an anemone.” You’re welcome.)
I tend to think weird thoughts when everybody else is asleep. Like, if I sign up on the Timex, Longines or Swatch forums, do I automatically go on a watch list?
(Again, you’re welcome.)
Then I hit a wall and can’t decide whether I’m writing in third person, first person or alien. I stare at the screen wondering who wrote those previous paragraphs and remember there’s a bed upstairs waiting for me. I make a note to myself to never post something this banal and make another note to myself to look up the word banal.
A bird chirps and it pisses me off because I detect a certain sarcasm in his one character tweet.
Minutes pass between words as vzabsuuudjkldjkh zcxm …