Tripofmine
It is 9:45 a.m. when my eyelids finally manage to open by tearing apart the layer of sand and glue. I’ve woken up three hours late. The task of stepping out of bed adds another hour to that delay.
New medication is sliding down my bloodstream like chubby kids with their swimming shorts pulled halfway down their bum down a waterslide. Fast, while clogging up every inch of it.
Like so many other decisions in life it seemed like a good plan last night. Today begs to differ. These pills are only available with a prescription, and rightfully so. They are supposed to reduce my pain over time. For now all they provide is a feeling of instant obesity. Gravity has gained numerous pounds overnight.
In the kitchen I pour myself two gallons of coffee - no effect. Cargo ships full of caffeine sailing into my system would not be able save me today.
I attempt to make myself useful and pretend to think that work is a viable option. However, after two hours of staring at an empty piece of paper I acknowledge that my creativity is held hostage by my hidden intelligence and that telepathy is not my forte.
I go outside. Placing all my hopes on the magical recuperating powers of fresh air. Gallons of oxygen enter my nostrils, gallons of lack of effect leave my mouth.
In slowmotion, in full on Baywatch-style, I run to a street stall and buy a can of liquid meth for teenagers, also known as an energy drink. Nothing. No improvement whatsoever. I hand over a stack of bills with certain values, colours and shapes to the vendor and walk on.
Crossing the street I cause two trains to derail, three traffic jams, one divorce and a bridge to collapse somewhere up in the distance. All while turning every sidewalk in the city into a poor man’s Walk of Fame, leaving footprints in the concrete everywhere I go.
By now the frown in my forehead is so prominent that it’s able to give shelter to the homeless. My eyelids are begging for help at the Human Rights Watch, protesting against their inhumane treatment by this one-man terrorist organisation.
I return to my apartment and yield. Accepting my fate for the day. Trudging ever so slow to the mattress and pillows. A Metallica and Enya remix is heard in the background. I stick out my right hand. Heavenly sleep is within my grasp.
The sandman enters my room and slaps me in the face with a pound of sand. I collapse and sink away in divine softness. A sandy, red mark on my cheek. Eyes closed. Silence.
Now I am free. Off to never-never land.
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