Personal Narrative - Sleeping with the Enemy :: Personal Narrative Writing

Sleeping with the Enemy When I fall asleep in public, Alex informs everyone that Bryan wishs to pay money to go to sleep. His words dont stray far from the truth. I am convinced that I am afflicted, cursed, by something. I am haunted by the constant curse of unconsciousness. Glancing behind me, I see nothing, but sense the spectre that lurks. He is never very far, waiting patiently for me to drop my guard. We are very close, my shadow and I, and we know all of each others tricks. A continuing match of wits takes place every time I step into a living room, a movie theater, a library, an automobile. The summer after high school, five buddies and I set off in a van to watch baseball games at sixteen different parks across the continent. A dream road trip for six baseball crazed dudes. During one sweltering afternoon in Philadelphias Veterans Stadium, the game tied in late innings, I passed out completely. As a rule, chests were painted to spell out the home team as we, pseudo ra bid hometown fans, cheered our lungs dry. Today I was an S. As my comrades leaped to their feet following a big hit, fans in front of us turned and squinted. Whos Phill? they asked mockingly. The embarrassed friends just pointed at a seated snoozing S, who would later find the outline of his letter sunburned onto his chest. I snored next to probably a dozen different sets of screaming bleacher fans that summer. Sleepy McSleepsleep and permanent wave S became my permanent new nicknames. Yes, I fall asleep a lot. Wherever in that respect is a big test to study for, wherever there is a great movie I must see, wherever there is an important person I should listen to, I am there, ready to follow up my reputation and see/hear/read none of it. Its not that I dont try to maintain long stretches of consciousness, but I fight a losing war. Its like the cybernetic Borg from Star Trek. Resistance is futile, they drone, Classes are irrelevant. Obligations are irrelevant. Friends are irrelevant . Time of day is irrelevant. You will be one with the Borg. A terrified crewman fires phaser blasts at the oncoming machine man, but it has adapted, and continues to mindlessly approach. Suddenly it extends mechanical tentacles into the poor guys neck, and the crewmans skin goes gray, ceasing to be human and becoming part of their Borg collective.