I’ve Become Petrified of Reading

I’m reading an amazing book by Jeanine Cummins about a Mother and her son who, for reasons that I shan’t divulge, have to escape Mexico and start a new life in the US. It’s one of those page-turner novels that grips you from the very first page.

I can’t stop reading it. And I don’t think I’ve ever slept worse. Not even that time in high school that my friends and I thought it would be cool to sleep on the beach, only to realize that (i) it’s freezing at night, and (ii) sand travels — it ends up everywhere.

No no, this is worse. I’ve become so emotionally attached to the characters that I can only put the book down when my eyelids rebel and literally close themselves against my will. My body is exhausted, but I can’t get to sleep. Why? Because despite living happily and freely in my house all day, come 11pm, I become convinced that there are obviously narcotraficantes hiding in my house, waiting for me to fall asleep so they can kill me.

As ridiculous as this sounds as soon as the sun comes up every morning, when I’m in that moment every night, I am 100% convinced that a gruesome death is imminent.

So, I’m trying to come up with a plan:

PLAN: Play Dead

I’m working on a few different variations of this.

  • Dangle a limb or don’t dangle a limb? I feel the former makes me look less cozy so I’m leaning towards that. That being said, my skin tone might rat me out. Unless I powder it white.

  • Eyes open or closed? I’m feeling open, I really am. I have one weirdo friend (bless her heart) who sleeps with her eyes open. But I mean, what are the odds that I would be one of those weirdos? Surely they’d just think I’m dead. That being said, the longest I can not blink for is 20 seconds so I need to somehow synchronize my blinks with theirs.

  • Light on or off? The men I believe to be hiding in my house are all addicted to cocaine. And I’ve heard on the grapevine that their pupils are likely to be dilated AF. So I’m hoping a light will deter them from this environment like a ray of sun to Edward Cullen.

  • Cover on or off? There is no way I would ever be sleeping without covers. I’m not even sure if I’m physically able to. That being said, no covers provide an opportunity. I will put a cushion under my top to make me look pregnant. NO ONE hurts a pregnant lady. At the very most they might not give up their seat on the subway. And what? My belly’s made of feathers. Joke’s on you pal.

  • Pills or no pills? After two nights of practice it dawned on me — how did I die? How silly. Of course it’s not believable that a 27-year-old female died spontaneously in her sleep. So I’m thinking pills, definitely pills. All I have are birth control pills and paracetamol but I’m hoping they won’t notice what was in those empty packets.

  • Note or no note? If I did kill myself, surely I would have left a note? How inconsiderate of me not to. But then again, I don’t want to flag up the existence of my family. I’d be putting them in danger, and frankly, they could never pull something like this off. If my Mum’s eyes are ever open, I can guarantee that words will be coming out of her mouth at a very maximum limit of two-minute intervals. And that’s generous. So maybe no note.

I’m feeling confident. I think it’s a pretty bullet-proof plan. To the extent that I think this should be taught in schools. What better form of self-defense than to play dead? Why would they kill me if I’m already dead?

Exactly, it’s irrational. And these are logical men I’m talking about, they’re just trying to do their job. So what bigger favor than to make them think it’s already done? You’re welcome boys. Merry Christmas!

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