Tuesday, March 23, 2004
Shoulda taken the Calms Forte
The schedule's been wearing me out. Usually before I go to bed on Monday nights, I pop me three CF's in order to ensure a good night's rest, since Tuesday is the day I work all day and go to school all night. But last night when I was in bed I was pretty freakin tired. Too tired even to get up and get myself a glass of water to take my CF pills. So I figured, eh, I'm exhausted anyway, I'm sure I'll sleep the night.
Well, last night I had a dream that my cousin Courtney opened a trust account at Morgan Stanley, and we took a polaroid picture of her and my aunt to display on our wall, then treated her to a Western Bacon Cheeseburger combo at Carl's Jr. I remember waking up right after that and not being able to go back to sleep for awhile.
Then finally I start to get sleepy again and I start to hear this mysterious buzzing sound. I know it wasn't my cell on vibrate and it wasn't the fan blowing stuff. But I couldn't figure out what the f*** it was. By this time I'm enraged because this f***ing noise is keeping my ass up and I only have an hour and a half left before the clock strike 5am. Then I listen reeeeally close and think it's coming from behind my Yankees poster. I determine it is and rip that mother f***er off my door. Out flies a liberated moth.
It was probably time for the poster to go anyway. Darryl Strawberry and Cecil Fielder don't even play on the team anymore.
Well, last night I had a dream that my cousin Courtney opened a trust account at Morgan Stanley, and we took a polaroid picture of her and my aunt to display on our wall, then treated her to a Western Bacon Cheeseburger combo at Carl's Jr. I remember waking up right after that and not being able to go back to sleep for awhile.
Then finally I start to get sleepy again and I start to hear this mysterious buzzing sound. I know it wasn't my cell on vibrate and it wasn't the fan blowing stuff. But I couldn't figure out what the f*** it was. By this time I'm enraged because this f***ing noise is keeping my ass up and I only have an hour and a half left before the clock strike 5am. Then I listen reeeeally close and think it's coming from behind my Yankees poster. I determine it is and rip that mother f***er off my door. Out flies a liberated moth.
It was probably time for the poster to go anyway. Darryl Strawberry and Cecil Fielder don't even play on the team anymore.
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