Disclaimer: The following post was transcribed from mad thoughts and small notes based on unintentional KOs aboard the CTA. It doesn't follow the usual format of the blog you see before you.
There have been a huge array of circumstances where I found myself being suddenly awoken whilst riding the CTA. Not in the sense of mysteriously finding myself there out of nowhere, but rather times when I fell asleep on a book, from drunkenness, out-of-the-blue, or the instantaneous KO that occurs when you drift away and close your eyes for merely a few seconds. It wouldn't matter if it was sunny or absolute darkness, the KO would still occur.
One night: After a lengthy shift at the airport as a PSA, I was ready to hop on the train and head the fuck home. My crib is only two stops away from the O'Hare airport, so naturally I would be awake for the short trip. But not this night, ooooo weeee! Once the weariness fully crept in, I took a seat and fell asleep, all the way passed downtown and onto the west side: this is basically an hour-long train ride, more or less. My unexpected nap had come to an end once I heard Racine being called on the PA. I knew I fucked up, especially after seeing 20+ missed calls from my mother and peers and several unread texts filled with grand anxiety.
"Hello?!" my mother opened, after I placed the call.
"Heeeeeeey Mommy..." I nervously replied.
"CRIS! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!"
I give her the rundown. Tears soon followed and my guilt was heightened.
Guys, give yo mama a call. She popped you out, she could probably pop you out.
I finally got home after being stuck on that filthy train for a little under two hours. My mother was sure as shit pissed, but one long hug between us seemed to do the trick.
Note to self: Don't sit if sleepy.
Another night: Crazy shit. Utter disappointment. A mess in and out. Today was just another one of those promising-looking days where many things could be accomplished around others at a huge get-together, but it all ends in failed expectations and pure inner rage.
It was simple, really: meet up with a few mates beforehand and pregame, enter the premises of the party and get stupid, meet up with a potential partner for the night (or text one of the familiar side chicks for a previous experience to repeat), or find a way home.
Indeed, the opening hours were magical. We found ourselves mixed with a diverse crowd of art students, clinging drinks and sharing tales like a merry reunion of relatives. Some did their nasty business in the bathroom or the balcony, others were more in the present and alive, talking consistently with one another as their livers were being damaged.
Time had passed, and my inebriation was reaching its purgatory state, where I can't decide if another drink is due or God is telling me to ease my pace. The party was still in progress, but the night was getting old. I had lost interest in sleeping with someone tonight, for my bed was now I could think about. But it wasn't quite time: the alcohol was still wet, the smoke still burning, the music remaining harsh and playful.
My mate JT was ready to make his move and call it a night, but he was hell-bent on getting me laid tonight. "Come on, nigga! Just go talk to her, she wants it. Believe me and just fucking roll with it!" He was referring to the host of the party, Leah, whom I've known from a previous class, but she hasn't recalled remembering me at all.
"No. No. Fuck it, Jay, I'll just jerk off and cry myself to sleep." This was me joking; JT didn't catch on.
"My dude, I swear. I think I'm about to bust your shit up if you don't get your dick rolling into a sprinkler!"
Once a few more shots entered his system, he shifted his attention solely to his girlfriend - at least I think they are together.
Around three o'clock, the attendees were beginning to make their exodus from the get-together. Essentially every individual I knew had a definite way home, some with strangers and others with impromptu plans for a slumber party. For me, I just wanted my TV and my bed and no one else. So I left without saying farewell - hell, these fuckers were too trashed to probably recall any final moments the next morning.
The next O'Hare-bound train arrived after a 20 minute wait time, which honestly felt like an eternity when the mind has had too much. Of course, I knocked the fuck out with my phone in my lap, freaks all around, napping and hogging up entire seats for their dirty asses. I woke up at O'Hare, not my stop, and my phone still intact. Me as well. It was like I was never bothered, but everything felt like a slow-moving scene from a film's climatic event, where the hero saunters toward his love or home with a face of torment and mild satisfaction - epic music in the background as well. From the moment I woke up on the train, I felt powerless and depressed. This happens sometimes when the mindset isn't healthy enough for vices. It's happened when I got too attached to a TV show after killing a 24-case of Coors.
I got home a little after five, to PJs set on the bed and our little fan that was set to medium speed. Catching sleep that night never felt so special, so ideal. All I did was the standard routine for going to bed, except brushing my teeth: blankets over the body, one pillow for the head and another for the legs, and stripping away the scent of that fucking party by changing into the PJs. My head was a hot mess that night, nothing that I had anticipated came to light. Which is probably due to my mind's habit on changing plans back and forth within a short period. Things could've changed with Leah, or I could've partied more and expected a little spice for the night. But slumber's importance came to me in a nice fashion this night: when none else fails, just fucking go to sleep and stop whining.
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