Cue the title theme for The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. The ceiling fan on one click of the pull switch. Slower with two clicks, slowest with three. On the television, Gollum raises a live catfish to his mouth, gushing with blackened saliva.
George picks away at a leftover bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos, engrossed in the film. I lie back and watch the ceiling, shadows rapidly stretching across from the fan blades. I used to throw beanie babies at my ceiling fan to see them crash and spin out from impact.
He takes a break from pouring the red hot crumbs into his mouth and I peer up at him, a suspicious child.
The Perfect Intoxication. I'd like to think I achieved one of very few in my lifetime, on this night. It's an accumulation off my things. First, the atmosphere. My friends, the people whom I find familiar, pleasant, and comforting. Check. Second, the day after. I have absolutely nothing to do and all day to do it tomorrow. Admit it; sleeping in is pure joy. Check. Third, the substance. Both good in options and taste. Check. Mix well with timed consumption and I have successfully acquired The Perfect Intoxication.
There were talks of impulsive decisions that were ridiculously impossible to the naked eye. But doable. That's the beauty of it. "Let's go to Vegas right now, actually." I don't remember who brought it up. It sounded like a good idea. In the fit of a game of Apples to Apples, priorities came down to visiting Disneyland. No longer any parents to consult with, but instead our own financial consciences.
Growing up. The shift of the wicked scales between time, energy, and money. You can only pick two at a time.
It's 4:51 am. I'll just leave it at that and go to sleep.
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