School Night

They are setting off fireworks days, more than a week, after the 4th. I don't hear any shouting or cheering, I don't hear any voices. Maybe it isn't fireworks, I think for a moment, maybe it's something... sinister? But it is late on a what I still call school night.

I am up. I cannot sleep. I am hungry. Is there food? It's not good, they say (them again), but I don't really have anything to snack on, which stresses me out, which makes me even hungrier. It is a vicious cycle. A delicious cycle. I wonder what a cycle would taste like? I assume it would be pleasurable, satiating. It sounds like I'm describe a sex act. I drink a glass of water to see if that helps. It does not.

I start signing petitions. Remove that politician, save that dying animal, send money to starving children so they can get a good education, what have you. I click button after button and I think I'm doing something. That's what we are now really, that's what the world does. A bunch of button clickers who think they're accomplishing things. Today we say our grandfather's fought in the Korean War. Our grandchildren will say we made internet videos.

It wasn't a lot of fireworks. It was only two. And if it wasn't fireworks, if it was tragedies, two is better in that case as well. But now I am up, hungry, annoyed, politically activated. I suck on frozen berries from the freezer. You know, where I keep my frozen things.

Should I call her? No, but should I text? Could I text. Well, yes, OK, obviously I could text, but should I? Oh, god, I'm a mess. How late is it, is it late, is it too late? "It is never too late," who said that, someone must have said that. I want to look it up but I power down my computer because I know if I go back on it now in this state with these questions in my head I will only end up looking at her stupid beautiful face until the sun crests the stupid hills and then I will finally get back to bed. Could that be what I need? Is she my sleeping pill? Is she a different kind of drug altogether? Do I dare find out?

I could ask myself and raid the pantries until the cows come home. I just have to get in bed, calm my mind, and lie here. Lay here? Lie. Lay. Another age-old problem. I seemed to be riddled with them. Another firework tragedy. Another second hand. Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it? Which is it?