:: On the perils of entering the laggard's den ::

Tuesday, December 23, 2003

My brother’s room is dark, almost shockingly so. What few windows he has face the side of a hill that shields them from all but the most indirect ambient sunlight, on top of which sit several non-deciduous plants conspiring to form a perennial light-repellant canopy. Despite having their job preempted by nature, I have never witnessed his shutters in an open state, a curious symbolic counterweight to my brother’s gregarious personality. It is here in this space outside of time, in a vacuum of any and all energy, that my brother sleeps until noon each day, which might be excusable if his internal clock were not already two hours ahead, stuck on Central Time. I am not certain whether this state of permanent midnight has been constructed to suit his sleeping whims, or whether his sleeping patterns reflect his having fallen victim to what I can only describe as the most soporific environment outside of an all-night post-Thanksgiving marathon of Barry Lyndon.

Regardless, having to wake him up is a bitch of a job.

UPDATE: no sooner do I write this than the the lil' spaz goes and gets me Chipotle gift certificates for Navidad. Awwww.

Posted by morland @ 03:35 PM

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