My eyes regrettably flew open and scanned the clock that would inform me that it was 4:30 AM. As I uselessly readjusted my position, I began to wonder why this had become a nightly habit of mine for these past several weeks. Falling asleep should not evoke so much frustration, I decided, and began deeply sympathizing with every insomniac that is tortured by this regularly. There has to be a way to end this. In my half-lidded stupor, the practiced friendly tone of a commercial recited a brand name in my head. I resolved then that I would have to drug myself into submission.
Two days later, my schedule was free of classes and, as an added motive, the electricity in my building took an unexpected vacation. I boarded the bus into town.
The subtle unsteadiness of the Wal-Mart's entrance bore a wary welcome. My face pulled into a half-smile as I flew past the stationary greeter; I feel guilty each time I shop here, as if I am committing a crime against humanity.
At the pharmacy counter, a man wearing a white button-down led me within the walls lined with dietary supplements and pain relievers. His apathetic face told me he took no solace in the fact that he was in a high enough position to evade the constrictions of a blue name-tag-bearing vest.
"I'll show you what I use," he told me after my pleading, sleepless eyes requested assistance. There was empathy in his response.
It was the only thing being rung up as I approached the cash register.
A college student purchasing sleeping pills. I slipped into a cliche.