I don’t sleep naked for the following reasons:
1) I find it uncomfortable.
2) If a murderer broke into my house/apartment/condo/etc., my chances of survival are greatly reduced.
Now, if the murderer (who broke into my house/apartment/condo/etc.) was also naked, it would be a different story; however, most murderers don’t murder naked. Most murderers murder fully clothed.
To protect myself through the night I wear boxers and a T-shirt. Sometimes I wear shorts or pajama pants for added protection. This all depends on the month. The Murder Months are as follows:
Don’t ask me why these four months are more murder-inducing than all the others, but they are. Anyway, to protect yourself through the night, I suggest (at the bare minimum) tossing on a fucking T-shirt.
If you refuse to wear a T-shirt, due to the fact that you must for whatever reason(s) sleep naked, then be prepared to possibly die.
Some people are okay with dying.
Others are not.
I typically fall into the NOT okay with dying category, as you can probably tell from my non-naked sleep habits; however, there are times where I strip down and scream…
Over the past few months, my mental state has been deteriorating due to receiving rejection after rejection from graduate schools and coming to the realization that I will be working my grocery store job much longer than anticipated.
My main problem is that I have been consciously putting off real, full-time work, to pursue this ridiculous profession known as writing.
As I sat in my apartment and contemplated the past 10 years of my life, the urge to live faded and my mind began thinking horrible, horrible thoughts.
To get myself right, I accepted my non-graduate school fate and applied for a new, more tolerable, grocery store position that involved more responsibility and most importantly, minimal customer contact.
Thankfully, I got the new grocery store position.
Side Note: The new position is only 20 hours/week, so to make up the extra hours, I still work the cash register 10 hours/week.
When I was a kid, I thought my Life Plan would look something like this:
Now, as an adult, my Life Plan looks something like this:
I am a poor, sad-faced writer headed to an early grave. I cannot control my FATE when it comes to writing. I can control my FATE by wearing boxers and a T-shirt to sleep, so when a murderer bursts through my apartment door and tries to kill me, I can put up a fair non-naked fight.
About a week ago, I was taken off the waitlist and accepted to the Creative Writing Program at the University of Idaho. I was shocked.
The acceptance was terrific news and offered me a sense of relief that I had not felt in a very long time. The only problem is there isn’t any funding, which means I would have to take out student loans and pay back lots and lots of money for a degree that many people (who hire people to do boring-work-job) deem useless.
I’m currently applying for financial aid, looking for scholarships, and sending emails to various people at Idaho in an effort to somehow make this work. I would love to attend graduate school but accumulating so much debt (possibly $75,000+) for something that may not pay off, makes me very uncomfortable. I don’t like feeling uncomfortable. I like feeling comfortable and protecting myself from fully clothed murderers by wearing boxers and a T-shirt to sleep. I don’t know how you naked sleepers do it. So carefree. So, I don’t care if I die. Don’t you know that naked people are easier to murder than non-naked people? Of course you know. You just don’t care.
If you would like to avoid Babushka Hell, please subscribe to my mailing list: