Before I rest

Everything I have to think about before I can sleep.

My eyelids have grown heavy, my back supine as I wriggle with delight under my warm covers. I check the clock. 11:16 PM. I count the hours. Four, six, eight… if I can fall asleep within the next 15 minutes, that means I can clock a momentous eight and a half hours of sleep. I imagine what that would do for me… I’d wake up with hair down to my butt and baby soft skin. Maybe even a likeable personality. I allow myself to sink further under the covers, curling onto my side. A soothing parade of imagery, the first course to dreams, plays across the blackness of my closed eyes.

You have to pee.

I open an eye, the dreamscape dissipating. Frustrated, I close my eye again, trying to force the return of the silvery images that seem to have spawned from a place beyond tangibility.

If you don’t go pee right now you will have to go all night and you will be so upset and also something bad will happen.

But what kind of bad things?

Doesn’t matter.

I rip myself from my blankets and stumble to the bathroom, covering my bare body with one hand as I feel my way down the hall with the other. I pause to wonder if my neighbors would be the perverts for looking or if I would be the pervert for failing to properly shield myself. I check the clock. 11:24. They would definitely be the perverts. 

I take my place in bed, my eyelids considerably less heavy than they were.

Your neighbors don’t like you.

Why wouldn’t they like me?

Naked and weird.

I frown. That doesn’t seem fair. Instead of further engaging with this speculation, I try to focus on warmth spreading through my body.

It’s a UTI.

It’s not. What is this bizarre obsession my subconscious has with my bladder? The warmth is like warm honey, drizzling through my veins.

Do you remember that one time you went on a date with that guy and he looked like a hot capybara?

No. The warmth is golden and light.

You were too nervous to eat so you watched him eat and then your stomach started making noises so it sounded like you were farting or something, but you were just hungry and nervous but you didn’t want to say that and once you got home he texted you saying he just wanted to be friends.

Stop.

You don’t remember that? Obviously I remember that. Why would you bring that up NOW?

Doesn’t it bother you that he thought you were a farting loser?

No.

Not even a little?

I’m trying to sleep.

Oh, okay.

Where was I? Honey, warm, gold, sunlight…

Isn’t it crazy how eventually everyone you love will be dead?

I sit up in bed, brushing a hand on my throat. I’m just thirsty. That’s all it is.

I get up and drink a glass and a half of water. The voices subside. I look at the clock. 12:07AM. I pad back to my room and try to do a better job covering myself. I pull the covers up to my chin and do some simple math. If I have to wake up at 9AM, I can get seven and a half hours of sleep if I fall asleep within the next 23 minutes. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to picture nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Do you think one of your moles might be cancer?

I grab a fluffy pillow and hold it over my eyes and ears, as if it will block out the sounds of my inner turmoil. I take three deep breaths. I am suddenly so hot. I turn on the fan and kick off my blankets, sweat beading on my forehead where I continue to hold the pillow. 

Remember in third grade when Brandon Weeks farted in class and everyone laughed and then your teacher Mrs. Liche said “Don’t worry, Brandon, it’s just natural,” and then everyone laughed harder?

What does that have to do with the capybara date?

It doesn’t. Just something to think about.

Shouldn’t that be someone else’s before bed anxiety? Brandon’s for example?

Brandon doesn’t remember that.

Oh.

I open my laptop and watch a boring Youtube video I have watched ten times. Something else to think about.

You hate this.

Huh?

This sucks now. You watched it so much it’s ruined.

I close my laptop. I shut my eyes and focus on the black nothingness. Everytime a thought tries to escape it gets sucked in.

Do you—

It’s absorbed by the black.

Remember—

The thought fades to black before it can posit the question.

I begin to relax again. More and more thoughts attempt to break through just to fizzle under the magnitude of the nothing they spring from. My head begins to ache. All this nothing is taxing. 

The whine of a mosquito begins to buzz in my ear. I clutch the pillow even harder and the whine just gets louder.

At first it doesn’t sound like anything. I can almost get used to it. Then the noises begin to take the form of awful words. Words I’d rather not conjure.

Do you think you will ever be a mom?

I groan into my pillow sandwich. Not this. Not now.

It’s sort of a woman’s duty.

A woman but not this woman.

Oh because you’re afraid?

No.

Don’t think you could find love?

No.

Then why haven’t you?

I’m 24.

Juliet was 13.

Juliet is fictional and killed herself.

You afraid they’ll be like you?

Maybe. I just don’t wanna think about that.

Why?

I can feel the air growing thinner and my heart racing.

I don’t want someone to have to be like me.

You seem fine. 

Now. I seem fine now.

I just don’t want to think about it, okay?

That’s fair. You’d probably have to get a sperm donor anyway. Because you won’t be able to find love.

I stack another pillow on top of my head. I can’t tell if I’m trying to drown out the thoughts or just suffocate. 

¿Por qué no los dos?

Alright.

Sorry.

I’m gonna eat an emergency Lunchable and you’re going to have to focus your attention on digestion.

Nooooooooo. I like being here with you!

You have given me no other choice.

I eat a Lunchable as quickly as I can as I watch the clock. 2:03AM?! When did that happen? I frown as I brush my teeth again, spitting cracker crumbs down the sink. I don’t feel good, but I know I’ll feel better. 

I lay down again, my eyelids heavy once more. The feeling of warmth returns, my blankets pulled up, my thoughts beginning to drift.

Translucent imagery, all of which is unrecognizable, dances towards me, waltzing to the steady thump of my heart rate. My breathing slows, my stomach gurgling quietly. 

All at once one specific feeling comes over me.

No.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.

You have to pee.

FUCK.