A Twelve Hour Sleep


20181124_132356.jpg

I just had revelation. Girly mugs are the least of the things that I have that would make people’s brows go up. At the moment, I’m sitting at my desk wearing a tank top and a pair of navy leggings with white stripes. Behold:

I like things “traditionally” meant for women—Sprite, leggings, thin cigarettes, pink coffee mugs and sassy quips like, “Oh I wish I could just wear anything!”

The comfort is unrivalled. The only thing I wish for these pantalones, is that they were just a bit snugger. If I hike these bad boys up to my true waist (just south of my nip nips), they become just lovely and constrictive, albeit a bit moose-knuckley. I think my outfit is half of the reason that I slept until noon—I was completely unrestricted while swimming in snooze lagoon.

Tyler Fudge came over last night and we watched cooking videos with Matty Matheson, living it up like only two thirty-year-old bachelors can. We talked a bit about our new show that I mentioned in the last podcast and, well, to be kind about things, we indulged. It was Friday night, so like any god-fearing Canadian citizens, we attempted to send ourselves to the moon. We got halfway there, and then suddenly it was one a.m. and we aborted the mission. There’s only been a few times in my life that I’ve heard Tyler Fudge say, “nah, I’m good, man,” and last night was one of them.

Maybe it’s a thick, chemical soup playing into my good mood this morning. Maybe it’s the fact that with my dog here the night before, I stayed up until at least three and then had to sleep on the small sliver of mattress that the queen bitch allowed me to have, only to wake me three hours later for breakfast. I was dragging my ass for most of the day yesterday, but by the evening, it was like I had forgotten how tired I was. Once I got back to bed, my body just took over, kicked my mind into the backseat and drive off to Restville. I got up at eight this morning to pee, and in my head, I thought that I’d just hit the sack for another hour, maybe ninety-minutes? Nope, stone cold time travelled ahead five hours to high noon and somehow picked up a bag of sunshine while doing it.

It’s a gray day; it’s not exactly frozen outside, but it’s cold and gray. I’m impervious to it though—I feel untouchable. I’ve got pizza in the fridge, a story that needs an ending and all the time I need to figure it out. With my coffee and my leggings as my guide, I will sail through this day and you know what? I’ll probably take one of those sweet, gluttonous naps that you take when you can. There’s no other reason for it other than the pleasure of comfort and sleep—you had a great sleep last night, the day is productive and moving forward at a good clip; but you just take a nice, tight lil’ twenty-five on the couch just because you can.

I’m fucking excited.

This post was what I’m gonna call an endorphin reaction from my super fantastic sleep—I’m just starting work on the coffee post that was teased on my Instagram last night, so hang tight for that and come back later to check it out.

See you in a bit.