✍ CURRENTLY WRITING FROM: SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
I’ll try to coherently type these things out as I ponder them.
“Holy crap, I really need to pee, but the bathroom’s the other side of the house, and I know I’m going to wake everyone up on the way.”
“Does this mean I have insomnia? Am I now unpretentiously allowed to declare—oh, wait, no, I had that coffee right before I went to bed—who does that? Who in the actual hell does that?”
“This is the third time I’ve replayed Madeline and it still hasn’t helped me drift to sleep.”
“Oh my God, I think I hear something outside my door.”
“I swear, I seriously need to pee.”
“If I turn on the light, then the whole neighborhood will wake up, I know it.”
“Don’t look out the window, don’t look out the window.”
“It’s three thirty in the morning, I haven’t slept a wink, and I’m looking at Vanity Fair’s Who Was Drunkest Celebrity At The Vanity Fair Oscar After-Party slideshow.”
“If I go outside now I just know I know that some pale ghost is going to be there and because of my kind nature I won’t scream in order to not wake anybody up and the ghost will suck my soul out of my body and by then well I wouldn’t need to use the restroom to pee anymore now would I.”
It’s 4:34 and I’m calling it quits omg.
* * * * * *
I don’t know if I should be worried or relieved that I don’t even remember falling asleep? I’m kind of ashamed over that last one—I’ve never even liked “pee” jokes. But I suppose this will help someone on their research on teenage girls + insomnia + coffee + heat + slowly debilitating social life.
Never going back again.