Zolpidem

The phone rang. I glanced at the clock as I reached across my nightstand to answer it.

It glowed 7:00.

“Yes?!” I snapped, angry that I was awakened so early. My chronic insomnia makes it difficult to fall asleep before three or four o’clock so being awakened—by a ringing phone nonetheless—is quite aggravating.

“I know what you did!” the male voice on the other end said, before hanging up.

I paused for a moment, reflecting upon things I’ve done lately that could have pissed someone off. There were too many to count.

Let’s see, I didn’t stop at the crosswalk last Saturday and let the bleached blonde with the fake boobs and eagle-talon nails jog across the street in her fancy fuchsia Diane von Furstenberg track suit. She tried to wrinkle her nose at me but there was too much Botox in her face to do so. I suppose she could have taken note of my license plate and told her husband—perhaps a cop, but more likely a plastic surgeon—who called me.

Who was I kidding?! This bimbo probably couldn’t even remember a license plate. Even a personalized one like mine.

Then there was the Fuji apple avalanche I accidentally caused at the grocery store last evening. Everyone knows that produce handlers purposely balance round produce so precariously that if you don’t take the bruised and squishy pieces from the top—but instead go scavenging for the good items—an avalanche ensues. I am positive that this is part of universal produce stocking training and that there is some type of bonus incentive plan involved.

After my landslide, I grabbed my items and then darted through the express lane as the produce guy ran to my mess. He could’ve been angry enough to call. They know me there.

Or perhaps it was the jerk in that black 2015 Corvette who—as I was already backing out of my parking spot at the local Goodwill—sped by, almost causing a collision which would have likely been my fault. I followed him through the parking lot over to the 24-Hour Fitness and as he got out of his car, I rolled my window down and shouted, “Hey asshole! Learn to drive. You don’t own the road simply because you have a fancy car!” He either didn’t hear me or was ignoring my tirade. I’m assuming it was the latter. Since he saw my license plates, theoretically, he could have found my number and called.

I honestly wasn’t sure. So I *69’ed the asshole and when he answered, I said, “Oh yeah?! Whatever I allegedly did is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you for waking me up!”

“Sleep is the best meditation.” ~ Dalai Lama

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