Do weird things happen to you when you take NyQuil? Because they keep on happening to me and I am so over it. Last night, my boyfriend and I were watching the Ken Burns documentary on the Dust Bowl, helpfully titled “The Dust Bowl” (be glad you were not an Oklahoma farmer in the ’30s), when a cough crept up in my throat. Maybe it was sympathy coughing? There was a lot of coughing in the Dust Bowl documentary. I took some NyQuil to quell the cough, and like clockwork, woke up four hours later at 3 a.m., with wild, stressy, NyQuil-infused insomnia. Thoughts you have when you’re in your conscious, rational, waking life––stuff like “we are all going to die someday”––take on a distorted, desperate, urgent quality at night. We are all going to die someday and I will probably die tomorrow and oh my God who will water the plants?
And that’s just the tip of it. Here are some of the crazier thoughts I had last night, while on a Nyquil insomnia bender…
My cat is going to die someday. Colonel Mustard won’t be around forever. He’s a cat pup now, but in 10 or 15 years he might die, and I’m going to have to come up with a plan to deal with this. I need a plan!
How do people do long distance relationships without giving up? It worked for this girl I went to college with––she ended up marrying the guy, and now they have two kids and they remodeled her bathroom. I should look her up on Facebook.
I spend too much time on Facebook.
What am I doing with my life? I should buy a house. I should buy a house!
Do I have to pee? Again?
Should I take some sleeping pills? This is getting ridiculous. Maybe just half.
My God, I’m still awake. How is this possible. If I go to sleep now, I’ll have gotten 6 hours of sleep. I can live with that. What’s the minimum of sleep you can get before you start going crazy, according to science?
Is that a new mole on my arm? Is it cancer? It’s probably cancer. I need to get the number of Ami’s dermatologist. I need to call my mom tomorrow. Maybe it’s a bug bite? Is there a mosquito in here? I am going to kill the shit out of that mosquito.
(Quietly listens for sound of buzzing mosquito. Gets up to pee once more.)
Oh, ha, it’s 4:20.
How many years left do I have to have kids? Oh my God, this is all so stressful. I’m almost 35! The years! My dude friends in their 40s can just find a girlfriend in their 20s to make babies. My first boyfriend’s second wife is pregnant right now. I should tell my mom. I wonder if his first marriage broke up over the kid thing. Or maybe they fell out of love? How do you keep that shit going for 20 years or whatever? If I have a kid next year, I’ll be 54 by the time it graduates from high school. That’s so old. Am I going to look old when I’m 54? I need to moisturize more. I wonder if you notice how old you start to look as it’s happening, or if it hits you all at once one day. I can’t imagine my face not looking the same way it does now. God, that’s so fucking weird. My parents are going to die someday and I can’t even think about it.
Whatever happened to Sue Duras? God, I wish I could find her on Facebook. I can’t remember why we stopped talking. Was it about Todd?
Where is Todd? I wonder if he’s still gay.