I dozed off on the streetcar today. You know how it is. Your head begins to nod as your eyelids grow heavier and heavier and the world recedes around you and you fall so willingly into sleep inside the rattling tin can that inches so slowly forward. I didn't want to take the subway. The subway is depressing and claustrophobic, and full of sad, frowny faced people who would all rather be driving somewhere than having to share a worn and fraying seat with a smelly man of questionable hygiene habits all the while being shut off from the bitter, beautiful November sunlight that just begs for long walks through the park. So I took the streetcar home.
I was reading Heart of Darkness. Conrad, mod classic, Africa etc. I was a few pages from finishing when my ten ton eyelids began drooping. I've been going to lectures long enough to know that fighting the fatigue is equal parts useless and futile. The streetcar wasn't crowded - they're no fun when they are - and I couldn't think of a reason to deny my body the sleep I had been depriving it.
I didn't sleep much last night. And when I woke up I was hung over. Not a good-lord-I'll-never-drink-again-so-help-me-god hang over thanks, I don't get those. The trick is to drink lots of water before you black out. That's my secret, though I'm sure you could find more knowledgeable boozehounds to get drinking tips from because what I don't know about alcohol could fill a German brewery. We were celebrating Regina's birthday and there is only one appropriate way to celebrate a nineteenth birthday. You know how it is.
Yeah, you know how it is.
Horatio
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