Sleeping Pill

    Forget the forty -year gap of time that has elapsed since this picture was taken , if you subtract my aunt babysitting me and the vintage Oscar the Grouch slippers, you end up with what essentially I look like at any given time of the day. For me, sleep can happen within minutes of resting my eyes, seconds after sitting on a bed, and precisely upon putting on pajama pants. It has happened while I was in my work clothes , just as it has happened  while I was at work. Laying on the floor to pet the cat is , essentially being passed a metaphorical baton in our sleeping relay race .  When I eventually wake up I am disoriented and confused , having dreamed of things as random as appearing in the credits to the nineteen- eighties sitcom  "It's a Living" alongside the legendary Ann Jillian ,  getting a chance meeting with both Judy AND Audrey Landers , or most commonly, being able to obtain the unobtainable  . Realizing I had not actually found the long out of print compact disc of "After Eight"  by international recording artist Taco is almost as depressing as my desire to find it in the first place, but this realization is generally coupled with my strong urge to urinate, which is infinitely worse. 

    Without my bladder , I could easily slip into a coma, but because of my bladder I could easily slip and piss my pants.  The good news is, should I ever have an accident , I have taken to wearing swimwear in public on a fairly regular basis lately. Starting with one embarrassment and leading to a bigger one, seems to be a trend for me these days. In this particular case,  I had ripped my shorts in public and was forced to change into  the only available alternative, a pair of swim-trunks.  I couldn't help but notice how much cooler and comfortable I was in the bathing suit then I was in the shorts I had on earlier that day , and that was before ever trying them out commando. So, it became a staple in my wardrobe much in the way nylon exercise pants did when I learned they were the most comfortable garment in the world to nap in.  If asked what I am wearing , I have been advised to say I am on my way to the pool, ironically one of the last places I would ever be found , as I am not one to regularly spend time outside at all. 

    Pictures I took of myself years ago suggest I was , at some point somewhat stylish ,or at the very least presented myself as such . A large portion of these were taken in the nineteen- nineties , during an era where my twenties coincided with Atlanta's 24 hour club scene. I felt, if you were going to be exiting a club in broad daylight , you needed to look as good as when you went in the previous night , or at least have hooked up with someone who didn't give a shit at that point either. It's hard to imagine there was a time when I was leaving the house at ten or eleven at night ready to go dancing , when these days I would likely be getting ready for bed at that time . So tired from a day of napping I switch out of my bathing suit and into my pajamas and fall asleep yet again to dream of obtaining the unobtainable - a smaller prostate, clothes that are both comfortable and stylish , and maybe a trip back in time to dance the night away without summoning the sun in the process.