It's 2:30 in the morning.
I can't remember who won the 6:30 football game from yesterday.
I run down to the basement and grab three Gatorades.
One for me…
And then two more for me.
I chug one in a single sip and watch some bullshit on YouTube because I'm wide awake.
I doze off.
I wake up again at 4:30. Another Gatorade and some bullshit YouTube.
What has our world come to.
Reaction Videos? What the fuck.
Idiots watching idiots watch some idiot do something stupid.
Put a gun in my mouth.
I delete YouTube and all my other social media and self loathe for a moment.
There has to be something more productive to do at 4:30 in the morning.
I know.
I'll give it a yank.
I pass out again.
It's 8:00 Monday morning.
I wake up on a sheet-less mattress on a pillow-case-less pillow.
I guess I never flipped the bed sheets into the dryer.
The kids are up and sound like a parade.
My wife is making their breakfast and the smell of burnt toast is in the air.
I hope.
Other wise this is it.
I'm going to kick the bucket.
With a semen stain on my stomach and vodka on my breath.
Not bad.
The smoke detector goes off so I know I'm not dying.
Live to drink another day.
But not today.
I grab a book and silence the detector.
I say good morning to my squad and ask Kris about the second football game.
I tell her I can't remember the score.
She tells me it's because I went to bed at 5:45.
Makes sense.
Also explains why I was up at 2:30.
She gets the kids out the door and I throw back a Tylenol and an Advil.
I make a coffee and head down to my office. I have a 9:00am call.
Every fucking Monday.
— continued in the book —