I wake up every morning to multiple alarms. None of them actually wake me up because I don’t have a schedule. I have no schedule. But even saying that is kind of wrong. I go to bed every night at around two in the morning. Sometimes later, never earlier. I drink five to six nights a week to the point where I need it to fall asleep. My gut is in the midst of a third world riot where they throw Molotov cocktails at police, the cops being my large intestine. Their charred remains get a closed casket funeral in a toilet that doesn’t flush properly. Flush it twice. It’ll work the second time.
I have a wake-up routine. I sleep through each phone alarm, set to some stupid android preset jingle, to the volume of a tornado alert. My mom comes down, or my brother, and restrain themselves from just fucking obliterating me in my sleep. I would – you have alarms going off from two hours straight. I am a burden because I am 22 living at my mom’s crib. I do not replenish the water filter. There is nothing that brings more anger in this world than not filling the water in the water filter – forgoing the fact that it doesn’t filter fluoride and the filter blinks red for two months before we change it. Not filling the water filter is a grave act of aggression. 500 years ago it would’ve started a cold war in a royal family. Now it just means I get dirty looks. Anyway, I wake up sometime between ten and twelve.
Waking up feels like hell. I cannot get out of bed. The only thing I reach for is my patent-pending nicotine stick. I’m addicted to nicotine. The only time that I feel it is when I wake up, with a fresh pod, fully charged. Then, but for a moment, I can feel the sludge in my brain move around. I wake up feeling as a fresh as a piece of supermarket fried chicken at 7pm on a Sunday. After I get my popcorn lung, I check my phone. Twitter. A time sink comparable to Skyrim where you spend 400 hours and you realize you could’ve done anything else, but at least the side quests are out of the way. If the dogs bark I think about what would happen if I took Whole Foods 85% dark chocolate and left it on the ground. Waking up sucks.
Most mornings, as of late, my mind flips to plan s. I think about the people that I’ve let down, the shit I’ve fucked up. But in all reality, by most metrics, I’m successful. I think that I might suffer from the thing that everyone’s mom told them when they came home with a C in 9th grade history. You’re smart, you just need to apply yourself. I did. I graduate with high cum honors, three majors, blah blah blah. I did a lot of shit. It doesn’t subside the feeling that I want to find the highest bridge in a 100-mile radius but even if I did it, I’d fuck up and end up a quadriplegic that couldn’t jerk his own dick. Cup of coffee with three ice cubes because I have no patience and I’m back to normal.
I think of this every morning. Things, in a comparative sense, aren’t bad. I am not broke. I am not ugly. I eat well, I drink two cups of coffee, I live a relatively wealthy life in terms of both experience and sociability. I have a job. I am not the two Syrian migrants shining my vans in Beirut. I am not the kid I met who got shot twice by ISIS. I go to bed satiated. I wake up not to gunshots but to the melody of geese and wind chimes. Life really is not, in the comparable sense, bad. But right now, I’m stuck in hell. Maybe If I apply myself, I’ll get out.