JACkory's Listening Room

I’m up way past my bedtime. My beddy-bye, lullaby. Actually I passed that point some time ago, but I felt led to make it public at the present because, seriously, you should really know this by now.

Not thirty minutes earlier I was deep into a bag of Starbursts. I’d progressed to the point where I was just stuffing my mouth with them, hardly chewing at all. I had trouble getting some of them unwrapped. At one point I found myself chewing a bit of a wrapper, with it’s smooth, waxy exterior, just malleable enough to where I’m not sure if it’s really a piece of paper or a stubborn Starburst.

Long story short, I was in the mood for Starbursts and so I fetched me some. I had no idea that my hunger for their fruity goodness was not to be sated easily. In fact, I woke up this morning with a belly full of half dissolved Starburst candies. It felt like there was a 5 pound weight in my belly.

My options were limited: Starbursts or Skittles.

Skittles, it cannot be denied, have a swell candy taste. They are just the right size for pouring a handful into your mouth, letting them swirl around in there for a while, let the saliva begin digestion’s hard work. They don’t have the same “hangover” effect that the Starbursts’ did, but on the negative side, after a few seconds of chewing, the candy breaks down into crunchy sugar. You can already feel the pain and hearing the sound of that dentist’s drill. There goes another layer of enamel. For what, I ask? For SKITTLES, that’s what.

The only time anyone should choose Skittles over Starburst is when they’re not up for peeling wrappers off of sticky, sweet, artificially flavored and colored processed fruit gum squares. It’s hard work to wrangle one of the “difficult ones”. Thirty seconds lost is thirty seconds that can never be regained. And what’s thirty seconds compared to years of wearing dentures?

The candy goo still filled my gut as I attempted to hoist myself from the bed. Unsuccessfully the first few times, but eventually getting’ the job done. I sat up in bed and listened to the steady but tired rhythm of my beating heart and the steady inhalation and exhalation of breath in my lungs. I felt a slight pain in my chest, a pinprick point just above my left nipple. Just sharp enough to make me wonder about the ol’ Ticker in me, debating on whether I should breakdown and go see a doctor. I was going to do that a month or two ago, but the spasms had subsided to the point where I thought maybe, just maybe, they had taken leave and gone into remission. No need to bother the doc. I don’t want to know what he has to say about it anyway, good or bad.

I opened my eyes, finally, and realized that I was standing naked by the side of an unfamiliar bed. I looked around, to try and get a handle on my surroundings. By the rays of the moon I saw it reflected on empty, shining beer bottles…wine bottles…booze bottles…all tossed into a pile at the foot of the king size bed. Black silk panties cover half full Budweiser cans. My “lucky red” underwear, lying suspiciously close to the Victoria’s Secret sale item, showing signs of wear and tear. I wasn’t sure if I could trust whatever luck they might could throw my way. Lucky enough when you look at in a certain way, I suppose.

To be continued…as I really must get to bed…it’s not safe for me to stay up all hours like I used to do. Sleep deprivation is a formidable foe.

And I know that I’ve used those words, “To be continued” countless times without ever returning with updates and/or new material. Sometimes I knew, even when I wrote the words at the end of the page, that I had no intention of a second installment.

It should be, “To be continued…MAYBE”.

Maybelline.

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