Sleep

           All I want is to go to sleep. To be honest, I'd prefer to fuck my girlfriend and cuddle with her and then go to sleep, but there's limelight in the air, I can smell it. Then, I hear it knock, knock. I answer What? with annoyance. Room check. Room check. Why do these fucking morons always to do a room check when I want to sleep. I have insomnia, but these assholes need to do a room check. So, I put on clothes, since I sleep in the nude and answer. I feel the bags in my eyes. The idiots smile, trying to make me smile, but I don't smile. It's time for your room check. Can we come in? I sometimes wonder what the fuck they'd do if I said no or if I could own a gun and fire some fucking warning shots. Then, I could get some goddamn sleep.

           Fine. Get it over with. They turn on all the goddamn fucking lights. They don't understand circadian rhythm. Morons. You're bed isn't made. That's because I was trying to fuck and sleep and fucking sleep before you bastards came in. The toilet needs some scrubbing. Who gives a shit? The only reason to clean any of these goddamn things is if I was having guests and I never want any one in here except a woman who wants to fuck and cuddle, which you aren't. You're women, but you work here. Some of the food in the fridge might be expired. I don't care if there's a ten-year old fucking human corpse. Just let me fuck myself and go to bed. If you need any help with any of these tasks we can help you. Yea, you can give me a pad lock and an AK-47, so I can get some goddamn sleep. No, I'm good. I'll take care of it later. Morons leave. I lock the door. They have a key anyway, but the other residents can't come in. Undress and get out the lubricant.

           Knock, knock. Mary wants to see you outside. Mary can go do what I'm doing, which is to go fuck herself. If I don't answer, maybe this moron'll go away. Knock, knock. Hello. Please, God, make her go away. I hear mumbling. I get the lubricant out and wait five minutes. Quiet is the second most beautiful sound in the Universe. The first is a woman orgasming. It takes me fifteen minutes to fantasize. I dream of the women who have flashed me, their bras dropping like clouds from heaven and me playing with the adipose tissue; hard centers. And I complete it. It goes on my left leg and my blanket and my muscles relax and just as I'm about to head off to La La Land, some moron knocks on the door. Just ignore them. Their morons who get bored easily. Ignore them.

           Are you ok in there? Godddamn it. It's the staff. Motherfucker. So, I say, Yes. Go away. And they do. Then, I go to sleep with my stuffed teddy bear and it's beautiful. This is what Heaven must feel like. Harp music, soft bed, no one to bother me with bullshit. Maybe a mug of beer to chug down while watching the news at low volume. I never sleep with the TV on. Makes too much noise. I tried Calm, Insight Timer, everything. But for me, nothing beats quiet. And for a few hours, I can sleep and it is beautiful. Sleep is the only way I can escape reality. The reality that I'll never get married or have kids, the reality that I'm locked in a cage in Hell for the rest of my life, the reality that if I run out of toilet paper I am not allowed to go to the supermarket until the next every other Wednesday, the reality that I am surrounded by uneducated idiots who can't speak proper English. I ain't got nothing to do with that and other English atrocities. Where did you idiots go to school? “Elementary, my dear Watson, Elementary.” Morons. I'm the only one here with a college degree. Morons. 

           Hey, did you hear that so-and-so did such-and-such. Unless it affects me or my sleep, I don't give a shit. World War III is breaking out, the whole goddamn world is gonna end in five minutes. Great. Then let me nap for five fucking minutes. Then, there are the arguments between other residents over stupid things like which fucking sports team is going to win Sunday's game. Will it affect your food, your housing, your health care? No, then who gives a fuck who wins these goddamn games. You do because you're idiots. What's my favorite team? The Cincinnatti Snoozers. What do they play? Soccer? Who fucking cares? Well, that and the weather are something to talk about. No. No. I'd rather talk about sex, politics, or religion, then ever hear anything about the goddamn weather again. But, look what it's been doing? I don't care. Unless it's life threatening, who gives a shit. If I'm going to be in bed, sleeping, how would the fucking weather affect anything. Doesn't the sun make you happy? No, the sun'll give you skin cancer and wrinkles. Do you think that'll make you happy? Hmm. Well, what do you do for fun? You know, in your spare time? What spare time? I don't have any fucking spare time. You must do something for fun? There's the “F” word: Fun. I don't want fun, I don't want entertainment, I don't want idiots saying the same goddamn phrase over and over. I just want sleep. The Z's. Snoozing. Sleep. 

           The goddamn cell phone rings and it's my mom. What? What do you want? I send it to voice mail. I need sleep, not catching up. Love the song, “Oh, How I hate to get up in the morning”. And you know, some days it feels like if I could just be put in a medically induced coma for the rest of my life, it'd be a great thing or to end my life. I mean, I'll never own a home, buy a car, get married, or have kids, so what the fuck is the point? Phenylketnurics contains phenlalenine. Only matters if I have PKU. Acetaminaphin is metabolized in the liver. The bastards have control of my meds, too. But I have money and can buy meds seperately every other Wednesday, so I set a date and rest well, knocking my final rest will come soon. Forget the toast, L'Chaim, to life. I'm drinking to death, freedom, silence, to death and beyond. Freedom. Peace and quiet.