My last post may have met with a bit of confusion. After all, who thought I had a penchant for punching midgets? Well it turns out that while it may not be voluntary, it is certainly something I am very, very good at. Here is a journal entry I authored last August after trying to complete an all-nighter. I don’t quite remember my motivation for attempting such a feat of masochism, but the good news is that I failed spectacularly and lived to write about it the following morning:
Terrible motivation for staying awake. (Image obtained from: http://images.odeo.com/4/2/1/9780553213805.jpg)
Well, at about 4am this morning, I was hit with a megadose of melatonin. My vision was blurring to such a degree that I knew I would be unable to read even the simplest of things, like Joyce’s “The Dead” (You like how I said a difficult read is usually very simple to me? I’m pretty witty when I’ve had my eight hours. Which I haven’t.). But I’ll be damned if I wasn’t determined to accomplish something last night!
First, I finished off the last of the pizza I had for dinner. I wasn’t even hungry, but I like overcoming challenges. Then I clipped a hangnail with a pair of pocket knife scissors. Riding this high of accomplishment, I went to the town square and punched a midget. The adrenaline woke me up a little, but it soon went away, to be replaced by exhaustion more intense than before the incident. I wanted to punch the little fucker again to wake me up but it was at this point that I got scared. Could I be becoming addicted to midget-punching? I decided to avoid the situation altogether and go to bed.
Did I better the world by falling asleep rather than staying up all night? I’m not sure. But if I had fallen asleep in first place, rather than even attempting this ill-conceived notion of pulling an all-nighter, I could’ve avoided the entire situation. All I know now is that I can no longer ever again go to the circus secure in the knowledge that I won’t be shanked in the calves.
