23 Ways to Waste Time When You Can’t Sleep

Unfortunately, insomnia doesn’t seem to exist when it’s bright and early in the morning. We’ve laid our heads to rest when we’ve finally found 8 hours at night to be unconscious and not have a care about daily struggles. Sleepless nights can be a struggle in their own villainous fashion, but they don’t have to be! Here’s a bunch of different ways to conquer the sleepless night!

1. Read the most boring book you can possibly get your hands on, whether it be a novel or a textbook for class.
2. Hire Ben Stein to give you a lecture on American economics.
3. Begin watching a new television show, or catch reruns of Breaking Bad.
4. Clean out the lint and whatever other foreign objects you’ve managed to cram into your belly button.
5. Creep on your friends of interest on Facebook.
6. Create an alter-ego so that you have company.
7. Draw up a plan to chat up the guy or girl you’re craving to get to know.
8. Already have a boyfriend or girlfriend? Egg ‘em on for some crazy “I can’t sleep, fix this shit now” sex.
9. They aren’t in bed with you? Or maybe you really are alone? God gave you two hands for dire situations. Utilize the dominant hand for familiar, guaranteed satisfaction. Utilize your non-dominant hand to simulate the real thing.
10. Once you’re done playing with yourself, play with a Rubix cube.
11. Do your taxes.
12. Guzzle down some alcohol. Choose your poison wisely.
13. Take the bottle of alcohol you just polished off and smack it into the occipital lobe of your brain. Your dark bedroom will soon turn into a homemade planetarium, complete with stars and other shiny objects.
14. Find Biggie and Tupac’s murderers and personally ask them to gun you down.
15. Ask one of your monotonous friends to tell you a story, then inhale the sleeping gas they breathe from their mouth.
16. Dutch oven yourself repeatedly as heat helps you become more and more sleepy.
17. Sob and cry over the failure that is your life.
18. Learn a second, or even a third language. Research shows that ignorance is not a language that will get you laid.
19. Brush up on your useless trivia knowledge so you can win a free beer at the local pub.
20. Watch birth videos of various humans and other mammalian species.
21. Learn about the intricacies of how mommy and daddy created you.
22. Write the next great American novel.
23. Stick ice cubes into your nostrils for an extended period of time in hopes of developing cold-like symptoms. Then you can call out of work the next day and actually try to get some sleep.

I Can’t See My Face

Looking into the mirror, I’m able to note every physical characteristic of my being. I know the color of my eyes, I know the shape of every scar and blemish, and I know exactly what body my innards are controlling to walk this Earth. I live in a world where it’s possible to know who I am just by looking through a series of photographs, films, and mirrors. I’m not afraid of who I am because I know exactly what people are looking at when they look at me.

I’m beginning to think of a world where physical reflection, photographs, and film footage didn’t exist.

If this were the case, I can look down and see nearly everything from my shoulders down to my feet. Yet, I’d live my entire life without ever knowing my facial characteristics. I can pick hairs off from the top of my head to get an idea about other characteristics.  I could also trace the outline of the bones that provide structure, but I’ll never see the face that hosts the eyes responsible for visualizing the world for me. Imagine living your entire life being able to see everything but your own face. Everyone else can see your face, but you’re left in the dark for the rest of your existence. Sometimes what you don’t see is scarier.

You could always ask somebody to draw your face so that you could get an idea. However, you’re going to get a wide range of quality from the many people you ask. Some will only be able to draw a stick figure with a circular head, and simple dashes to represent the eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. Some will be able to draw a near photo-realistic portrait, but it’s open to interpretation. They could have drawn everything exactly as they have seen, or they’ve made a few adjustments, purposely deceiving you. Would you trust somebody else to tell you who you really are? No, only you know who you really are.

Heartbeat

Nothing haunts me more than the sound of a heartbeat. That thumping racket repeatedly changing pace, either increasing or decreasing. That heartbeat can mean anything; it may be beating faster, slower, or normally for a multitude of reasons. My heart is the center of my universe.

1. It’s an everyday thing to keep me going. It carries me through the challenges of every waking moment that it beats.
2. It lets me know that my system is being drowned in my own blood.
3. It beats normally to let me know that I’m normal.
4. It beats faster and slower, letting me know that I’m anything but normal.
5. It beats until the day I die.
6. The faster I run, the faster it beats.
7. When I’m truly frightened by the elements of terror in our world, my heart will signal this by beating faster, or it’ll stop.
8. Whenever I sneeze, cough, or hiccup, my heart doesn’t stop in contrast to popular belief.
9. When I take a moment to sit still with my thoughts rather than the activity of my heart, it decelerates.
10. It compliments my breathing, one breath at a time, it keeps me alive.
11. When I’m feeling stone cold, it goes slower and slower, as if ice is coursing through my veins.
12. When I’m enraged, it goes faster and faster, as if flames are engulfing my ribcage, instigating action.
13. The sound of the thumping is truly haunting as you listen to your heart change it’s pace. As it gains or loses momentum, you’re left wondering whether you’re really living or dying.
14. It beats in rhythm with other inhabitants of the world, letting me know that I’m not alone.
15. It beats in correspondence with the one I love, showing that we’re connected to each other for a reason.
16. It beats in agreement only with her, for our relationship is defined while others are not.
17. It’s an organ I share in common with not only the human species, but any other creature that has ever roamed this universe.
18. It serves as a main source of connection and not of difference.
19. It beats to serve my brain and other main parts of my body.
20. It enables me to serve in all functions of life.
21. It has served me well through prenatal development, infancy, childhood, and adolescence.
22. It will continue to do it’s job through adulthood, old age, all the way till death.
23. It rules my physical existence, I’m not entirely sure if I can keep it after I die.
24. It guides me through bouts of happiness, sorrow, anger, despair, fear, surprise, nervousness, alertness, exhaustion, hope, desire, love, hate, relaxation, loneliness, curiosity, hurt, humor, rage, stress, passion, boredom, emptiness, embarrassment, anxiety, and inner peace.
25. It is me.

Not Yet Human, Only a Stripper’s Pole

Are you one of those people who puts “virgin” on the line when the Check-In form at the Doctor’s office asks for your sex? Maybe you’ve had sex or maybe you haven’t. The question is: was it good? You could tell the doctor a lie, but he could just twist the family jewels into a knot until he exorcises a truthful confession. After that, he gets to juggle my testicles while he laughs maniacally towards the heavens like a schizophrenic clown. This isn’t what I imagined foreplay to be like, let alone sex. Hell, me grinding on some girl at a party is like Michael J. Fox playing with an Etch-A-Sketch. He’s toyed with my weapon for a whole minute and the edges of my machete have yet to dull, still remaining sharp as ever. Once Blue Cross Blue Shield covers my embarrassing visit to the Doctor, he’ll elegantly tell me to “Get fucked” and go slay some dragons with my sharpened sword until the blade dulls. He tells me not to come back until there’s blood.

Lovemaking is said to be one of the most beautiful things in the world. I may be biased with my lack of experience, but it could be much more beautiful if our reproductive organs were more attractive. Watching yourself bump uglies is like watching the ugliest couple in school make out until their faces are coated in thick slobber. I could get the same effect if I let an army of banana slugs charge into my boxers.

My resume isn’t particularly impressive, although my current position as a pole for women to dance up on remains as promising as ever. It would be nicer if bystanders didn’t throw coins, dollar bills, and phone numbers at her while I mastered the art of standing stiffly as she swings around my limbs like monkey bars. I’d like to think I do a really good job, however most gigs last no longer than the amount of time the doctor likes to play foosball with my junk. I can’t wait to be promoted to full time human being.

Don’t fear, gentlemen. Soon enough we’ll all earn our promotion.

Stop Looking At Me

Mona Lisa will not stop staring at me.  It’s either the woman in the painting itself or the ghost of Leonardo da Vinci that makes those eyes follow your every movement.  Collectively, perhaps, they’re studying my body in hopes of rearranging my internal organs so they can use my plentiful blood for paint.  You’re dead and the woman in the painting is forever dried and locked within the frame.  However, I’m already troubled that your image has made its way to the cover of magazines, DVD covers, and an assortment of parodies to add to this insufferable horror.

Yes, Leonardo, you were a genius and still are a genius.  Mona Lisa thrives off of your everlasting popularity, which still gives her that fresh, unnerving stare that never seems to fade over time.  I can feel my eyeballs attempting to sink into my head, breaking the sockets so that they have a little more wiggle room to drown themselves in a pool of nerves and brain fluid.  To hell with the occipital lobe, I don’t want to see you anymore and I want you to leave my house.

My mother insists that you stay because you’re so often celebrated and no house is complete without some variation.  My blood boils at the notion of your presence haunting homes and museums at an international level.  Most people would get arrested these days if they just glared at others all day like you do.

What’s with that stupid smirk?  Do you want to say something?  Are you feeling squirrely?  Are you about to let out a tortuous scream that shatters testicles worldwide?  Just get this horror over with.

4 Reasons Why I’m Awkward In Public Places

1. My awkward dance moves.

Science will tell you that your awkward moves on the dance floor signal to onlooking ladies that you aren’t a compelling sex partner. Once I guzzle down a few beers to accumulate appropriate confidence, I’ll hobble my way to the center of the dance floor and bust a move. My signature (and only) move is pelvic thrusting, which pollutes the air with an awkwardness that cannot be ignored by the party’s other guests. Naturally, the music dies down and the eyes of all party-goers synchronize together to create one big spotlight that stares me down.  My inferior genes are duly noted by the other guests so they won’t manufacture some loser fetus inside of her uterus, forever shaming the existing and forthcoming members of the family tree.

2. I drink the wrong beer.

My doomed generation favors alcohol that can be paid for with a collection of loose change from your couch. Busch Light, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and an assortment of other cheap hippie beers have attacked my fully functional organs time and time again in exchange for saving my bank account. Instead, I’ve adopted a beer snob persona and spend the extra couple of bucks for a six pack of Guinness or available seasonal brews.  I’ve let other girls have a taste of my Guinness, and we’ll just say the luck of the Irish was not on my side.  Apparently, their cheap drink selection must be a representation of how easy it is to drop her panties.  I’ve learned that my selection will not have panties collecting dust on the floor any time soon.

3. I’m boring to talk to.

Verbal communication is extremely important since not all words can be expressed with our sexual organs. Parties are a breeding ground for random conversations where anybody with a halfway functional brain will succeed. Excited to work my sharp tongue, I pelvic thrust my way to a couple of ladies ready to engage in a mastery of the English language. “So, uh, hi.” The ladies seemingly evaporate as they are nowhere to be found once I opened my chatter box. After hours of searching, the girls are presumably dead because nobody is willing to answer my desperate “Missing” posters for these unmistakable beauties.

4. My confidence level is sub par.

Socially awkward characters, such as myself, do not have the same level of confidence as the greasy frat brothers that frequent the bar.  Our boners must create some alternate reality or fantasy world to flourish in.  My confidence has strengthened over the years, but not to the point where I’ll stick my tool in anything that moves.  I’m not yearning for an STD landmine down south; I can get a burning feeling from the shower if need be.

Headache: The Weight of the World

The environment suffocates in silence while the noise inside my head is heavy metal. The stresses of the world have penetrated into my cranium like an uninvited bullet, yet I’m still among the living. The bullet has halted its trajectory; there is no exit wound to allow the ground to be peppered with fragments of my mind. The pain is burning my brain matter, disintigrating all of its tissues and cells into a pile of ash. Somebody help me, I’m falling apart at the seam.

Why is the bullet resting in my mind? It’s so painful, all of the world’s flaws are hiding inside my cranium so as to not disturb anybody else. Is this what they meant when they say I held the weight of the world on my shoulders?

The pain is slowly subsiding without surgery. The bullet has made its exit, but only positive energy flows out of the wound. A scar is certain, but it proves that I am strong enough to work with the world’s imperfections. I may have overstayed my welcome, but you can’t rid of me no matter how hard you try. My imperfections are at war with yours, that is why I coexist with you, Earth.

I am stronger than you think, World.

Mirrors: Inanimate Life

If there’s anything in this world that isn’t deceptive, it’s a mirror. It’s the best at mimicking the actions of the real world flawlessly. In a sense, a mirror knows the world better than you do in a physical way. It’s an incredible artist with the brilliant talent of showing you a photographic image, animating you and everything else around. In a way, it’s better than a friend, boyfriend, girlfriend, or any category of human being because it doesn’t lie to your face for personal gain. I applaud the mirror for bringing me together with the person that I really am…on the outside.

That’s its one flaw. It is spot-on with visuals, but is incapable of mirroring the psychology and the perplexing details of your inner self. While it may be a flaw, you shouldn’t be concerned. It can’t manipulate your feelings about yourself and the world, you’re doing this to yourself. The mirror is innocent, it tests your willingness to accept the truth. Hopefully you aren’t relying on a mirror to tell you who you really are on the inside and out. Are you really going to take your frustration out on an inanimate object? However, it isn’t exactly inanimate to the fullest. It’s lifeless, yet projects and animates life. It can visualize the love between you and your significant other, it can stare back at you with your own smile, among other things. It may be able to see and show our physical affection for one another, yet it’s quite possible we don’t feel very similar on the inside. I can smile into the mirror, yet on the inside my feelings are destructive.

We constantly lie to the one who is incapable of deception. Just imagine what a mirror does when you’re turned around and not even looking. Is the mirror a backstabber, stooping to the level of humanity when we aren’t looking? If anything, it doesn’t want to show us what monsters we really are, and it doesn’t want to show the world for what it is: descending into chaos at the hands of monsters.