ABOVE: Love of my life and soon-to-be husband, Henry Cavill
Date: 10:00 p.m., Sunday, February 14, 2021: Hours before a deadline
Form: Sparkling beverage
There comes a point in every young writer’s life, when the meaning and pressing nature of a deadline ceases to hold them accountable. It loses its sharp edges. The longer you go on and the closer you let yourself creep towards one, the more the fear wears off and the consequences shrink.
Also, it is fair to reason that, when your assignment is to experiment with wacky tobaccy, it is possible that sometimes a deadline can completely evaporate from your memory.
So, with my tomorrow-morning deadline looming at the edges of my awareness, I set myself down to let the words flow. I crack my beverage, a sparkling grapefruit-weed infusion that tastes a little bit tangy and earthy.
10:15 p.m.: The can is very tiny, and I finish it, it seems, in about four sips. It’s contrary to how I consume other drinks, so I have to remind myself not to crack another. Still, I like something to do, so I drink a Fresca instead.
11:00 p.m.: The first effects arrive. My hands are heavier than I remember them being. They feel weird against the keyboard. Is it still called a keyboard? They are letters, not keys.
11:15 p.m.: My YouTube suggestions are all about magicians. I hate them. You know why I hate magicians? I am glad you asked. They are so smug. You want me to applaud you when the situation you created with precision pays off? Wipe that look off your face, dude.
11:25 p.m.: I am 98% certain that a North American ground squirrel is watching me through the window. What’s up, bud? I wish I had some peanuts to feed him. I wish I had some peanuts to feed me.
11:45 p.m.: I like everything there is about Henry Cavill. I just wish that he was in movies that showcased his talents (and arms) better. Or that I was married to him.
Midnight: Kate Moss said that “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,” but I doubt she has ever tasted sour cream and bacon chips, so I am not inclined to trust her.
1:00 a.m.: The chips are gone. I wish I had more chips. Chips and Henry Cavill.
1:10 a.m.: I just impulse purchased a pregnancy body pillow on Amazon.
1:15 a.m.: My mouth feels funny. I think I might have gone overboard on the chips. The roof of my mouth is torn to shreds and I can’t keep my tongue away from the flakey bits of skin. I need to brush my teeth.
1:23 a.m.: I am definitely feeling the effects of my beverage. Have you ever brushed your teeth with an electric toothbrush while high? It’s a unique experience and not for the faint of heart (or the sensitive of gums).
1:36 a.m.: How weird it is that your hair grows from the roots and not the ends? Feels like it would make sense — way more sense — that way. Who do I talk to about this?
1:47 a.m.: Phew – credit card for the pregnancy pillow purchase (Woo! Alliteration!) was expired. Probably for the best, but now I’m sad. Maybe I should input my new expiry date. But my credit card is all the way over there (gestures to 12 feet away.) Maybe I’ll just guess.
1:50 a.m.: It’s not 13/67. Guessed wrong.
1:55 a.m.: It is not 12/35, either.
2:00 a.m.: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
(This is where I appear to have fallen asleep while holding the comma key down.)