It’s funny how completely obnoxious an alarm can be, even if it plays your most favorite song.  There’s something about waking up to the alarm in the morning, or afternoon in my case, that makes you want to just murder someone.
If you can’t tell, I love sleeping.  It’s my escape from the world and when I can be an observer for once.  The only things I like more than sleeping, though, are dreams.  Sometimes, when I have a particularly good one, I write it in a little notebook next to my bed so that I can pretend to dream when I’m awake.  Last night I dreamed that I died and I could wander around with my spirit.  Ah, what a dream.
If only it came true.
I spend most of my days much like how I end them: waiting to go back to sleep.  Nothing in my world is worth seeing.  Mama loves me too much to stop giving me money, but Mama’s pockets only go so deep.  So I have to live in this little hellhole of a studio apartment that I pretend to call my home.  The only thing worth anything to me in here is my oversized sofa.  I could care less about everything else, but you must have gathered that by now.  The only reason I keep that accursed alarm clock is to remind me that I need to fill my stomach at some point.
I suppose there’s…one other thing that keeps me happy.  They say that everyone needs a vice, and I suppose my pills constitute as one.  You see, in order to dream and get a sufficient amount of sleep, I need to take about four or five of them nightly.  They give me strange dreams, pleasant dreams, and even naughty dreams.
Sometimes, if the conditions are right, I’ll seep for a whole day!  I love it when that happens.  The only problem with them is that they run out, and if I don’t get my pills, sometimes I never get to sleep!  You never want to see me like that.
Mama said that my life is a mess, but she’s far from right.  If anything, I’m in complete control.  I have my weeks perfectly planned out for optimal time in blissful sleep.  Only on Thursdays do I leave the building to forage for food, and I am sure to return as quickly as possible so not to miss my afternoon nap.  And Sundays are the only days that I cook.  I figure that I can use it once per week and not over due my budget, which I so perfectly made.  I dreamed about my budget, by the way.
Did you know that Mama actually had the audacity to say that I was addicted to sleep?  I mean sure, maybe I missed too many classes, or slept through a few birthdays, or failed to attend dad’s funeral, but to say that I’m addicted?  She even sent me to this awful “Reinstitutionalization Clinic” where they forced me to stay awake for more than six hours at a time!  Absurd!  But I played their little game and stayed up for a little while.  
And when I dreamt, every one of them was burning.
But, I’ve bored you too long.  In fact, I’ve bored myself.  I must say that all of this talking has made me quite sleepy.  Now, if you’ll excuse me.

***

Jordan didn’t wake up that day, or the next day for that matter.  In fact, nobody realized that he was dead until his landlord came up to collect his long overdue rent.  When the doctors determined the cause of death, they found that he had taken over 12 times the normal dose of sleeping pills.
Get this.  The last dream he had told him to get rid of the pills.  It’s funny how the brain works.