You ever have that dream, where you’re actually almost happy? All your old friends are there, and even though you haven’t seen or talked to them in years, you’re all getting along and everything’s fine. You’re all crowded into a room, they’re perched on every bit of available furniture, the music you all used to listen to is playing somewhere, that godawful pizza you used to love is on hand, and you’re bickering over the virtues of a pair of video games you haven’t even thought of in ten years or more.
Then you realize that your hands don’t hurt as bad as they used to. The girl who chopped off all her hair, got breast implants and decided she was a lesbian is there, and she looks like she did when you swore you were in love with her that one summer. The guy who caught his hand under an engine block and lost his fingers doesn’t look like he’s wearing his prosthetic anymore. None of the kids are around. Instead of that stupid Pomeranian your one friend had, he’s got his Dalmatian, the one who got hit by the neighbor’s Mustang.
Then you realize why everyone’s there, why they all look like they did when you were all sixteen, when everything was still okay, why none of them have the kids and pets and scars and gripes they did as they got older and all drifted away from you and each is other is they’re dead. Every one of them.
So, yeah, who needs to fucking sleep? Not this kid, I’ll tell you that.