Insomniac Snippets

I've got horrible insomnia and can't complete a thought to save my life. There's more to these stories, but I figured I'd put the snippets out there in case I never finish the thoughts behind them.

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These days that blend together in a neverending cycle of sleeping when I should be waking and vice versa are wearing me down. They remind me of when I was lonely and kinda shattered, but not quite, like the shell on a hardboiled egg that has been pounded, and you can see all the cracks, and know that the inside is suffering the effects and rotting as you watch, but it's still on the egg, and the egg, obviously, does nothing to remove or repair the damage. It just sits there, being an inanimate object that once had a shot at being a living creature. I guess that's kinda how I feel.


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One of the bouncers I was friendly with, upon seeing me seated alone at the bar, asked, "Where is your royal court tonight?" I was confused, he mentioned me always having a different group of people following me around, and I laughed dismissively, saying my friend would be there in a few minutes. I had many people comment on my ever changing bar companions. Most people said it in awe, and added things along the lines of, "Do you know everyone?"

My reaction to these comments was always the same, superficially dismissive, secretly wondering why they didn't realize it just meant no one could put up with me that often.



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I got kicked off the drunk bus that night. We were in a beach party town, he had driven us to a condo procured by my friend's friends. I knew the people who had paid for the place from going to their bar. I don't really know how I ended up semi-invited there, but I do know Matt was the one who drove us there, despite the fact that no one but me knew him at all. By the time I got back to the condo with Matt, I was only wearing a bra and thong. That was highly unusual for me. Under the guise of taking care of me, or getting me to calm down, pass out, whatever, Matt took me to the balcony, where I know I told him "No" many, many times. I also know that I did eventually cave in, saying, "Jesus Christ, just shut up and do it already, you're getting on my nerves." To his credit, he did ask if I was sure. I don't remember exactly how I replied, but I know I displayed general annoyance of the situation.

As he pushed my underwear out of the way and entered me, he made a noise of such sheer and utter satisfaction, from waiting for over a year for that moment, that just what was happening sunk into my drink addled mind. To his credit, his first stroke was his only one, because he stopped as soon as I realized what we were doing and started freaking out. I was angry and wouldn't speak to him after that. I remember him telling me angrily that he was wasted too and that maybe if I'd talk to him, I'd find out that he was sorry. I wouldn't talk to him. It was an uncomfortable day or two at the beach and a hellish four hours home.

Several years later I saw him at my oldest bar hangout. My friend had just died, and I was feeling nostalgic (and a little generous -- I know, how kind of me), so I said hello. The look of joy at my acknowledgment of his existence struck me like a backhand. I sneered at him, snarled about how I couldn't believe he was still in love with me and stalked away, leaving him open mouthed and gasping, near tears in the bar. I haven't seen him since.