I stagger around a bit before realising what I’m doing. I’m in the living room, and it’s pitch black save for the night light which is doing a good job of making everything too-bright for my tired eyes.
“Water,” I croak feebly. It’s two in the morning, and I’m feeling puffy on the inside. It seemed the unfortunate idea of having pizza for dinner last night was bested only by the decision to eat so late into the evening. And then by going to bed early after a large glass of milk.
My stomach wheezed somewhat, in the dead of night.
I stumbled to the fridge and recoil slightly with a look of what’s best described as mock horror, as the little man turns the light on in my face. I blink — once, twice — third time I close my eyes and don’t open them again. I pat the bottles in the fridge and find one that feels like what I’m after.
Swig — “soy sauce!”
Second attempt finds the cool bottle of water I left there the previous evening.
The cool water washes down my throat with that distinctly refreshing feel of cool water washing down your throat. The pizza doesn’t seem too happy with this, and the two combine in the most uncomfortable of ways.
I potter around some more, before going back to bed. Sleep doesn’t come.
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