I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, need sleep. Not the kind of pseudosleep that's just a result of an unwillingness to leave the soft comforter behind, the kind of sleep where the pons shuts down all parts of the body save for the eyes (hence, REM). Hell, I probably need some Stage 4 sleep, too.
I was walking across the hallway out of the bathroom, having shut the door behind me, when I hear this kind of hissing noise--not the malignant kind, the benign kind that means one's throat will be slit in a matter of weeks rather than seconds. Well, I turn around--and somehow, the toilet paper roll has attached itself to my pyjamas. WTF?
I don't know about whatever it is I don't know about.
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