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Sleep When You’re Dead

Someone recently noted something about me that was probably excessively apparent but has become so much a part of my life that I don’t give it a second thought anymore. We were sat in my nice air conditioned office discussing the banality of working life and how the everyday person squanders their free time and they said three simple words… ‘You’re always tired’.

Tiredness isn’t really something that bothers me anymore. Even as I sit writing this I have worked a full day, and I’ve been awake since about 6am. For someone who has spent the majority of the past few years squeezing both work and play into a paltry 24 hours, sleep sort of plays second fiddle to life. When I first started going out and abusing tall buildings in ways you wouldn’t even believe if I told you there was a steady routine to finishing work and hitting the city straight away. Since I lived about 30 minutes from where I played, and even further away from my job going home didn’t really fit into the agenda. Then I moved into the city thinking it’d get a little easier, but it just gave me even more time to go out and play, and not worry about getting home at 4am with little to no cash and an employer that expected me to start work in 5 hours.

Fast forward to now, and I’m living in a country where it’s nicer for longer. You can imagine that someone who even managed to have fun whilst face down in a puddle in a theme park, while it was slamming it down hiding from blokes who were searching for them and wondering who the fuck was riding the pirate ship at 3am would have an even better time playing out in the 25 degree small hours of a Wednesday morning. You’d be correct. Now though, I am absolutely restricted by time. Metro is only inactive for a small period of the day, and whilst it is fun venturing into the tunnels while the sun is still up it invariably means that you’re sharing the limited space with a big metal thing that can’t see you but is definitely trying to kill you. Thus, the best time to go and see the metro and associated areas is during the night when there are limited staff, light, no (scheduled) trains and no people wondering what the fuck four dicks are running off the end of a platform for.

There’s a major disadvantage to not being a millionaire, aside not being able to just bribe the security staff that are tasked with chasing after us in the hope of a biscuit and a pat on the back from the boss (who is at home sleeping when they are patrolling the mean streets looking for men with bits of wood and cans of paint). That disadvantage is having to work for your money and that undoubtedly means that people are going to notice if you’ve fallen asleep at or under a desk when you’re on someone else’s dollar. The problems start to arise when you need to fit a healthy seven hour sleep, eight hours on the job and another five hours in the out of service metro (that doesn’t close until after midnight) into your day. That, and trying to do that whilst having the sleeping pattern of a normal human.

It’s always been something to deal with, and it doesn’t normally bother me. Usually when I have friends over and we have nights running track until the sun comes up I still make it to work for 9am. On those occasions, people comment that we must be out drinking all night and trying to burn the proverbial candle at both ends. I nod in acceptance, and retort that I probably shouldn’t on a work night, but I have guests so who can argue with that… Little did my colleague know that day at 9:30 when I was propping myself up (literally) on the large can of Red Bull (plz sponsor us) that I procured from the shop a mere 5 hours earlier on my way home to get a bit of sleep before work, I’d actually run away from the mossos when they saw us going into a tunnel.

Risk and reward, though; as the saying goes. Sure, working pays the bills but it’ll do nothing when I’m almost dead. When all there is left of me are a bag of my own piss/shit and the distant memories the youth I didn’t waste. Who cares if I’m tired?

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