Midnight Warrior

Have you ever been afraid to go to sleep for the chance that you might wake up a bit more stupid? Maybe I drink too much, or maybe I talk too much, or maybe I think too much. I have it in my head that I am a very smart person, but for the life of me, I can't seem to remember why. I go to bed sure that I have discerned the best way to keep paper from becoming obsolete in the digital future, and I wake up only remembering how great it felt to be flying in my dreams.

Most recently, I have been hypnagogically imbued with superpowers (or imbued with hypnagogic superpowers depending on how you look at it). Firstly, as I recently found out, it's the Prozac. Apparently my therapist forgot to warn me that head meds encourage extremely adventurous and vivid dreams. I have suddenly become a nocturnal warrior, righteous to the core. Evildoers, beware! Nene Leakes, who when the sun is up is one of my heroes, once tried to put a hit out on me via drive-by shooting. I survived, but I called that bitch up and we had a conversation.

N: "Hello?"

B: "Oh haaay Nene, what's up girl? How are you?"

N: "You know, I'm doin' reall good--"

B: "Well that's nice. Now what in the FUCK do you think you're doing? You missed, bitch, and I know it was you. If I ever, and I mean EVER see you out again, I will rip your twat off. I will literally, with my bare hands, grab your vagina and rip it off."

Around this time I start to wake up and realize that I am speaking these words out loud, successfully freaking the shit out of the scantily-clad person in bed with me. When the door closes, I am confident that I will never see that face in my bedroom again. Another one bites the dust. Le sigh.

But all Prozac dreams are not bad. The aforementioned confrontation with Nene left me well-rested and void of the tiny smidge of aggression that had been hiding out between two vertebrae in my neck. As always, Nene knew just what I Neneeded.