Sometimes I write the titles of a post after the fact if I feel there is no specific theme or if I really have no divine intervention as to what I will actually call it. Now I'm going over and over in my head as to why the hell I made an alliteration. For some reason, I compulsively think that that is a rookie thing to do. "Oh, you used an alliteration, well that's just silly you stupid novice." Kind of like wearing tortoise-framed glasses during a hipster craze; you will be accused of being a hipster or accused of aspiring to be one. No matter what you do, you can't win. ...I'm not changing the title now.
Recently I've found myself having a hard time getting to sleep. Some of this may be due to the fact that House of Cards is like crack and I can't stop watching it, but it's basically because like most of the human population, sometimes I just can't get to sleep.
I try and do the whole bed check-list to make sure that I'm in optimal comfort for sleeping: Are the covers just right for what I need? Yes. Is my pillow folded the right way so that I don't start feeling my own heartbeat in my ear? Yes. Are my contacts out? *touches eyeball* ...no...ow.
Yet sleep eludes me more than the ability to not burn just one pancake (Teach me your secrets Barefoot Contessa)!
| Here's a picture of a ferret in a beret because I thought it added diversity. |
So I sit in the dark staring at the ceiling that I can't see and my mind starts to wander. I already know that I have an overactive imagination, but I'm convinced at this point in everyone's life is when they become slightly neurotic. Something about trying to will your mind into submission only makes it angrier, like holding down a very angry ferret that's out for blood.
Oh no...what if I never get to sky dive before I die? Wait, do I even want to sky dive? You know, that's probably how I'm going to go, skydiving. Broken chute, flat Ryan. On my grave they'll put "Finally, the perfect pancake."
I guess it is better than dying from auto-erotic asphyxiation though, that would just be embarrassing.
Sometimes I wonder if it is better than college though. You know what I should do? Drop out and become a vagabond! There it is, life experience out the wazoo and completely free! I bet that I would meet some interesting people--probably someone that has killed a man! The type of person that just felt like it. Bearded, hard, gruff; just like the road they travel on. Although, roads aren't bearded. But those lizards from Jurassic Park are.
I'd much rather die from a freaky lizard with a gland problem than from a mugger though. This far in my life, I probably should have been mugged so far, right? I mean, I probably missed out on some whole life lesson because no one ever approached me demanding my wallet. I worked downtown for 3 years without one incident, one! Then again, all I really would have been able to give them would be a subway card and an outdated phone which they'd probably beat me to death with due to the fact they feel so bad for me. "Better to be dead" They'd say, "than to have this piece of shit on you." as they walked away, my body growing colder than tomato in a flash freezer.
Then here comes my final words. I always wish them to be some thing dramatic and cool like," At least I still had the farm" or "He'll get his just rewards...you'll see!" as I raise my fist to the sky with indignation and I collapse into someone's arms as the rain falls down my cheeks. More than likely, I'll say something stupid like, "Ow." or "Delete my browsing history..." at which point I'll just fall into a ditch and wet myself.
Probably preferable to dying at home though. I sleep a lot when I'm not at school so they'll just assume I'm recharging. By the time they realize I'm gone (after I attempted at putting one too many almonds in my mouth JUST TO SEE IF I COULD), the cat will have already gnawed my arm off like a Thanksgiving turkey. A very bony Thanksgiving turkey, but a turkey nonetheless.
The funeral, oh what will the funeral consist of? If anyone follows my personal wishes, then there will be no viewing since I find those worse than a room full of clowns. In fact, let's just make it a room full of food with a couple pictures of me. You can play classical music in the background while people sob over my demise. "But he should have known people can't fit that many almonds in their mouths!" they'd say as I sit in whatever afterlife I end up in as I bury my face into a cloud or cupcake or kitten or something out of shame.
And I'm sitting there as my clock blinks over and over, continually saying, "It's 3 in the morning, dummy. Stop your thinking, you're not dead yet."
It's right, I'm not. Note to self: just one almond at a time
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