It's hard to explain to people that I only need about three hours of sleep per day. I vividly remember the bizarre dreams I started having my senior year in high school. They culminated in visions of a grandiose tournament. When I woke up from my final dream I didn't feel any different. My insomnia started that night. When I try to stick to social conventions getting close to four hours of sleep is tough.
I'm never actually tired. Being winded is different that feeling tired. That's a distinction I've learned to make over the years. Once in college, during finals, I made it just over the one hundred hour mark before I passed out. My roommate said I slept for about fifteen hours. Shortly after that I started going forty two hours between bedtimes. I can almost get six hours of sleep that way on most cycles. That went from idea to routing very quickly.
Most people ask if I get bored often. Out of college I held down two and occasionally three full time jobs. On my fortieth birthday I semi-retired dropping down to just one job. I've made enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. I just couldn't bring myself to quit working altogether. The job I kept amuses me and keeps my retirement fund growing.
Six months into my new lifestyle I'm already getting restless. I've tried more hobbies than I can count. Most of them are more like work than fun. As I sit here writing my memoirs I'm horrified at how boring I am. I was given virtual super power and turned myself into early retirement man. I'm determined to not go back to work. I'll just have to keep looking for a hobby that interests me.
I've had my share of lovers over the years. One thing I haven't gotten the hang of is loyalty. I suppose that's a character flaw of sorts. I could probably blame that on my parents since they've been miserable together for as long as I can remember. The only thing they seem to hate more than each other is the thought of divorce. Back in the days when I limited myself to just one female companion it was hard to find the line between needy and stalker. I was fine with the appearance of being needy, but it's just so much easier to have two or three women available to me.
As I walked into the café I gave Karen a one in five chance of showing up. It had become obvious over the last month or so that I was becoming a side piece for her. I actually preferred for my relationships to end this way. After tonight I would move on and unless she showed up at my house for some make up time I could just forget her. I wouldn't hold any ill will or resentment toward her, but I couldn't have her blowing me off.
As I finished my dinner I looked at the bar across the street. It was just getting ready to open. Since my night was suddenly free I decided to go and see if I could find someone worth taking home. I paid my tab then made my way across the street. As I walked in the bartender said, "Hi, Gene!"
I looked around the place then said, "I'm not sure you know much about that, Dick."
He smiled then said, "You're here kinda early. Are you drowning your sorrows again?"
"Julie's been a little flaky lately so I need some luck."
"You've been going through them kind of fast lately."
"I'm down to just one job and one woman. Oh god! Is this what it feel like to be you?"
A couple of regulars walked in before he could respond. "I'll start you a tab, Gene."
"Thanks, Rich. I'll be on table five."
I'd been playing for a few hours when a woman approached my table. Her husband had gone straight to the bar. She stopped then surveyed the table for long moment. "Do you mind if I join you?"
"Not at all. Grab a que and I'll rack 'em up." She wasn't very good. I was having a hard time keeping her in the game without making it too obvious. I won the first two games keeping them fairly close. The way she bent over the table to strike the ball was becoming quite entertaining for the other players. A guy I hadn't seen before took it upon himself to start coaching her. His advice didn't make her any better. When she once again had to bend over the table his help went from theoretical to physical. I glanced over at her husband. He seemed to be enjoying the show the two were putting on. As the pair took the shot their elbows hit. The que ball bounced harmlessly back and forth across the table. I let a laugh escape my lips. "Line it up again if you want to try without the help."
The man said, "That's a good idea. Let me show you what that shot was supposed to look like."
"I'm playing her not you. You should get back to your own game now."
"It's okay, cupcake. You can have your table back after I take this shot."
"That's not how it works, bubba. If you want to take the shot you have to finish the game. If you want me to let you do that you need to put that jacket on the line."
"Fine, my jacket is on the line."
He bent down for the shot. I said, "No, give it to the lady first."
"You're starting to piss me off, cupcake." He took the jacket off then handed it to the woman. She slid it on. It fit her better than it had him. He bent down then took the shot. In his anger he hit the ball way too hard. The ball he had struck went in with some force. The que ball bounced around the table ending up in a side pocket. He frowned. "At least this way you can't bitch too much when you lose."
As I held the que ball deciding where to place it I considered throwing the game. The three strangers would be able to go home and have the tryst of their lives. I wasn't interested in that kind of thing anyway. I put the ball down deciding that being an asshole was much easier. I looked at the woman then said, "Pay attention this is gonna happen quick."
As I lined up my first shot the man said, "That's not the first time you've said that to a woman." I called my shot then took it. The que ball bounced with a precision that had taken me years to master. I cleared the table calling each shot along the way. It wouldn't match my fastest time, but I felt like I'd made my point.
When the eight ball went in I looked up at the woman then said, "The way that jacket fits you it looks like it was made for a woman. Why don't you keep it, sweetheart?"
"Thanks, it is kinda soft."
I looked at my opponent. He seemed to be coming to terms with the fact that he had just gotten hustled. "Are we done here?"
"We're done for now. Nice hustle, cupcake."
I looked at the woman then said, "Your turn to rack."
She racked the balls then walked around to where I was standing. She whispered, "My husband loves to watch me give head."
