I hate that I am awake in the middle of the night. It’s ridiculous. I was asleep; now I am awake. I used to be a terrific sleeper. It’s really always been a strong point in my repertoire, ranking probably…first, I guess. Now I’m all washed up. A hack. I’ve even bragged about my ability to fall asleep quickly and remain dead to the world until I must wake up. I have said, several times, “I just don’t understand how anyone can be an insomniac! I mean, how do you do that and not go nuts?” Well, the answer is that insomniacs probably do go nuts. I don’t know. I’ve never asked. And, look, I am not an insomniac. I just dabble in it.
Only lately have I been unable to sleep well, and I can only remember one time that I couldn’t sleep as a kid. I had a radio which was also a night light. It had a mouse sitting on a moon, and there were stars, and a yellow light shone from behind them. I wish I could find a picture, but it’s probably nowhere, now. “Dreaming of You” by Selena came on the radio and I was deeply moved, and I stared at the little moon and stars and the mouse for what felt like hours, but was probably more like minutes. (Update: my mother was insulted that I could even imagine that she didn’t still have this nightlight. She has it…somewhere…she thinks.)
And in addition to this sleeping thing, I’ve developed ringing in my ears. It’s not really ringing, I suppose, it’s a faint high-pitched noise that I hear when I am in a silent room. Everyone knows how much I love silent rooms, usually, but lately, silence drives me crazy, because it doesn’t exist! I’m not saying I’d rather be in a room where people are talking about nonsense loudly or making food noises or, god forbid, whistling, but this noise in my head has got to go.
Let’s see. What else would I like to complain about? I guess that’s it. Now I will move on to the good news, which is that I quit my job. I don’t have another one or anything, but two Fridays ago, after months (really…months) of contemplation, I gave my notice. You might say, “Yikes, in this economy, while living in the most expensive city of all time in the history of the world?” To that, I say, “Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence.” I’m not saying I’m not nervous about it. I’m very nervous about it. But, you know, I’m just kind of a nervous person in general, but as of Friday, I will be a nervous person without a job that stresses me out and is not right for me. I’m 23. I should be going wild…setting shit on fire…tearing shit up. Not literally, about the shit. The proverbial shit. The shit the man puts in my way! To bring me down!
I’m not sure what I will do next. Probably finish writing that book and immediately sell it and it’ll come out and everyone will be like, “WHAT? GIVE ME THAT BOOK! I WANT TO BUY IT! TEN COPIES! HARDCOVER!” and people will wait in crazy lines*, and they’ll be dressed up as I don’t know what. I guess one of two of my characters who are just kind of normal guys. Yes, everyone in the line will be wearing just some jeans and a t-shirt, but maybe some of them will be kind of mixed-up types, so they’ll also have some dumb fake scar on their foreheads, or wands or something. People just like to line up and dress up, and I will let them do it because I’ll be swimming in money, in my pool made of gold. New money, though…most money in circulation is lousy with poop and cocaine.
*When I worked at Hastings Music and Books as a teenager, we once stayed open late for the release of one of the Harry Potter books and most of the people there who weren’t children were, pardon my French, fucking weird.