Pillow Talk with My Brain
Excerpt from tonight’s session: Nano and the Brain
…This leads to me staring at the wall while I lay in bed. The blanket hurts my skin, my hip is sore from pressing in to the mattress, my throat is dry, the sound of my own breathing is annoying, my legs are hot, but my arms are cold, I do that thing where just as I’m drifting off into Justin Long’s arms – I fart which causes me to jolt and wake completely the fuck back up, the pillow hurts my hair, my sweatshirt is folded a weird way so that I can feel it, I have a wedgie (Ok, I realize I could alleviate some of my issues by sleeping naked, but that’s my business, don’t go doling out advice here, this is my book Ann Landers).
Some people ponder life’s huge mysteries while trying to fall asleep, while I take a more distinct route of worrying about my daily problems or incredibly random shit that I have no business wondering about. It’s a tug of war with my young adult Brain and mostly I win, sometimes.
Here’s how the conversation with my Brain usually goes at night. They happened a lot in Afghanistan because the internet goes out a lot there so I can’t watch my videos. (No spellcheck, I’m not capitalizing the I in internet, there is nothing proper about that damn word, so I WILL NOT give it a proper noun status, eat me.)
Me: “Alright, let’s get to bed now Brain, hush, it’s sleepy time.”
Brain: Squints gyri, “Um, no, no I don’t think so, absolutely no authority to make that happen up in here.”
Me: “I’m a motherfucking adult now Brain, I own you, I have all the authority I need, now go to sleep.”
Brain: “But here’s the thing, remember that Navy guy in the chow hall line today, we were waiting on ONE pancake and he came up, asked if we were in line, we said yes, and he had the nerve to shake his head at us and walk away like the asshole he was.”
Me: “He was a nobody, you didn’t know him or anything, he was probably just in a shitty mood, because…you know…Afghanistan.”
Brain: “Bullshit! Yeah, he’s in Afghanistan, but there are pancakes…seriously, it’s not that bad…with that stupid ass mustache, we should’ve knee capped him, you’re pathetic.”
Me: “Oh, I’m pathetic, don’t you mean, WE’RE pathetic.”
Brain: “No, don’t put words in my mouth.”
Me: “You don’t have a mouth. Shut up and go to sleep.”
Brain: Then she starts singing, “What’cha gona’ do with all that junk, all that chunk up inside that trunk,” at the top of her lungs.
Me: “OH MY GOD, YOU’RE NOT EVEN SINGING IT RIGHT. IT GOES, whatcha’ gonna do with all that junk, all that junk inside that trunk… idiot,” I yell at her.
Brain: “I’ma get get get get you drunk, get you love drunk up off my hump…or were there five ‘get’s’ in there.”
Me: I cut her off “Don’t say another word Brain, enough.”
Brain: “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Me: “No you don’t we just went.”
Brain: “My stomach hurts though, you ate cream cheese AND a tuna melt sandwich in Afghanistan, what did you think was going to happen.”
Me: “You’re a dirty little liar, you always do this, you say your stomach hurts, I go to the bathroom and..nothing, a whoosh of air out of my butt if I’m lucky, knock this off.”
Brain: “First off, GROSS, and anyways you’re the one who thought mayonnaise in a third world country was a good idea LAURA, who’s the idiot now. Also, we need to call mom, she probably misses us. Twitter needs us as well, we didn’t Tweet enough today to matter. You had seven cups of coffee today, I wanna’ dance! Why was Bukowski such a dick? I mean, he had that one nice poem about the lady he said he should have helped more, but man, how did his dick NOT fall off. I was also thinking we should take up ballet, I took the liberty of ordering two DVD’s off of Amazon earlier so we can learn, speaking of, our panda sweatshirt hasn’t come yet. You forgot the planner at work so now we can’t write down our plans so I’ll have to just talk about them instead.”
Me: “I hate you.”
Brain: “Tell me something I don’t know. Hey, we need more face toner, you’re looking kind of haggard lately. I like makeup, those YouTube videos are amazing, contouring is so much easier than I thought it’d be, Kim’in that shit up allll day long. What exactly is mustard made of, I mean, is it just the seeds creamed up, or do they add stuff to it, I think they must add something to it.”
Me: “Um, first off, I can’t tell you something you don’t know, you’re my brain. Also, what the shit do you even care what it’s made of, we hate mustard, you shit stain.”
Brain: “Jesus, I was just curious, calm down, you shouldn’t get all ragey right before bed. I told you we should’ve gotten ahold of some Ambien, so we could be talking to Rue McClanahan right now, I heard that shit is crazy if you don’t go right to sleep after taking it. Did you do your kegels today? What year did the Battle of the Bulge happen? I think we should cut our toenails. Also, remember that shitty job we have to go back to once we leave Afghanistan, because no one wants to read your stories, they just tell you they like them to make you feel better. You suck at math. I gotta’ pee now, can you get me something to drink, pop, I’d really like a pop.”
Me: Frowning. “We have to get up in five hours, I’m not getting you a soda, I’m warning you, I’m going to get the Nyquil.”
Brain: “Wait wait wait, no, I have something important to say.”
Me: knowing I’ll regret it, “What?”
Brain: “CHECK IT OUT, I DRIVE THESE LOVERS CRAZY, I DO IT ON THE DAILY…MY HUMP MY HUMP MY HUMP, MY LOVELY LADY LUMPS.”
Me: “You son-of-a…My book IS getting published, dickweed.”
Brain: “You’re probably right, I have faith in us, nighty night, don’t let the bedbugs bite, Buenos Nachos.”
Ten minutes later.
Brain: “You don’t think we have bedbugs do you, I’m all itchy.”
Grabs alarm clock, sets it for ten minutes later than normal and chucks it across the room and takes pants off.