Sleep is for Cats

If I never have to wake up again, I’ll be the happiest kid on Earth. Nine years of school is too much for any brain to endure. Now I have four more years of torture. If I was Amish or born in Jamaica or something, I’d already be done with school. I’d live on a farm or an island or something until I died. But now…

“Seamus! Wake up!”

“Mno,” I groan into my pillow. The side I rolled my face into was slick with drool and it got all around my eye. “Mnooo!” I groan, though Mom hadn’t yanked the sheets off yet. What was keeping her?

I open my other eye–the dry and crusty one–only to receive a blast of even more wetness, blinding me completely. Mom had acquired one of my old squirt guns.

“Maaawm! You wet my bed!” It sounds weird now that I said it out loud.

“Put yer sheets in the dryer an’ take a shower. I wonder sometimes if I raised a boy or a cat!”

Aw, man. What a crappy morning. What a crappy life.

“Dizzie!” I hear my mom yell down the hall. Why’d she have to wake me up first? I impress even myself with my mighty yawn as I hurled my pile of sheets into the dryer. They’re pink with flowers. My parents decided to give me a queen-sized mattress one day but I guess couldn’t bother to buy new sheets. I think these ones belonged to Grandma at one point, thought maybe Grandpa had them thrown out. Oh well. It’s not like I ever had much of a choice.

Showering is kind of fun nowadays. I won’t go into details, but I never have enough time to clean anything else.

Breakfast is not so fun. I can’t stand being around Dizzie and now that we’re both going to high school, she’s going to be driving me there too.

“Morning, Freshman!” She gives me a noogie as I come down the stairs.

“G’offa me, Ditz!”

“You’re gonna have to come up with better ‘n that if you’re in high school, little Shamey-wamey.”

“Let. Go! Maaawm!”

“Dizzie. Let go o’ your brother! Seamus. Grow a pair. I don’t want you gettin’ the livin’ snot beat out o’ ya on yer first day.”

Dizzie rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Mom. This isn’t your high school in Ireland. We don’t have soccer hooligans ready to pounce on fresh meat. Just jerks and douchebags.”

“Like you,” I mutter.

“Exactly. So stay sharp!” She smacks my ass and if I’d been chewing gum, I would have swallowed it. “Where’s brekkie, Mom?”

We notice Mom is sitting with sunny side up eggs, toast and tea.

“Whatever’s in the cabinet.”

“But… eggs!” Dizzie hops from foot to foot and points at Mom’s plate.

“You wanted eggs, you should have been up when I was making them.”

We grab some wheaties and milk.

“I’m leaving!” Mom says. “Have a good first day, you two!”

The drive there isn’t actually that bad. Dizzie blasts Sonic Youth the entire way there so we don’t have to talk. But she did say one thing as soon as we got into the car: “If anyone actually does want to beat you up, you tell me. Kira and I will kill that fucker.” She gave me a lingering look and then buckled up. I think she might have been serious.

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Filed under Novel, Session XIX

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