SLEEP, THOSE LITTLE SLICES OF DEATH

I need sleep, but I don’t want to sleep, but I have to sleep, but I’m afraid to.

You ever have that happen, Blog thing?

   Spent the night sitting in a chair in Cynthia’s living room in a zombie-like state while everyone else zipped around me at the speed of light. Cynthia’s a mess and Steph and I are trying to be her rock. She doesn’t look good, Blog thing. I’m worried about her…

   So yeah, I forget when it happened, but at one point I couldn’t walk anymore and just flopped down into the lay-z-boy and vegged.

   Then I saw him. Mr. Fucky fuck Skinny no face skelly guy - right the fuck there standing in the corner of Cynthia’s living room! Even without a face I could tell he was grinning at me like some legendary prankster.

   Next thing I know I’ve got Steph in my face yelling at me. Apparently I went kind of bugshit and jumped up out of the chair screaming. Cynthia almost had a heart attack.

   When  I finally got it together Steph told me I had been passed out in the chair. It was nothing but a bad dream.

   I can’t take much more of this shit, Blog thing. Apparently neither could Cynthia. She had Steph send me home.

   I swear I’m losin’ it.