So how did it come about that I’m sitting on the counter of a hotel bathroom just after midnight with my computer on my lap, listening to the sounds of my sister and my dad snoring through the wall? Well.
My dad had the idea that he’d bring me and my sister out to a hotel for a night to hang out together, since we almost never get the chance (what with my evil stepmother and everything.) I didn’t even know we had the money for this sort of thing. I guess we don’t, really; he told my grandma it’s only about a hundred dollars for the one night, which I think is good for hotels, and we aren’t going to abuse room service or anything, as fun as that would be. So we drove out to the barren, industrial suburbs, to this gigantic eighteen story hotel that looks like something out of a futuristic car commercial – believe me, I can barely accept that that’s true either – and we got a tidy, modern little room to stay in. The bathroom is pretty nice. I of course am currently sitting in it, because it’s the only place where I can have a wall to separate me from my snoring family members.
I don’t snore. I’m pretty sure I don’t. But THEY DO.
My God. My sister is six years old, and she sounds like a high-pitched chainsaw. Why? I’ve always known that my dad snores, but he’s sleeping in my bed with me, and it’s a little harder to tune out when it’s right next to your ear – and I’m notoriously bad with sounds like that. I can’t tune that crap out for the life of me. And not only that, but sleeping close to my dad is like being in a sauna; I thought I was a hot-temperature sort of person, but he wins. My mom used to complain that I was too hot to sleep close to, and now I understand what she means. I had to stick both my feet out from under the covers (while watching my middle-of-the-night transgender documentaries, which is apparently a thing I do now) and then, when the snoring got to be too much, I had to flee the bedroom and take up my residence on the polished, shiny marble counter. The reason I’m sitting on the counter is because the plug is just above it and my laptop needs to be charged.
So, I’m ready to accept I won’t get any sleep tonight. My dad’s going to wake up, wonder ‘Hey, where’s Brynn?’ and then go find me in the bathroom, sitting red-eyed and zombie like on the counter at eight in the morning. I’ve been up all night just once before, and it sucks; it also ends in apocalyptic panic attacks. So maybe in a little bit I’ll try to go back to the bed next to my sauna-father in the room full of snores, just to avoid a sleepless night.
I’m also anxious. I remembered to take my pills, which I deserve points for – wait a second. Suggested tags just popped up under my blog draft. They read, and I swear to God: bathroom, snoring, hotels, counter, sitting, panic attacks.
Well, that’s a little creepy.
Maybe there’s some also-sleepless guy over in India or something working for WordPress reading my blog as I write it and giving me helpful suggestions. And oh look, “India”, “God”, and “a little bit”, for whatever reason. Thanks, WordPress. You’re really helpful, you know? Not at all?
So this is my new thing that I do. ^ For the transgender crap section of the blog. It has a little sign and everything.
Before my iPod ran out of batteries I was watching random transgender documentaries on Youtube, as I said. Behold Danny, the vaguely annoying British trans male guy! Why am I doing this? I don’t know. I’m obsessed with finding normal-looking trans males, as awful as that sounds – and I swear to God, there has to be at least 90% of them who wear black studs in their ears. That was a thing I was going to do. Jesus. Don’t steal my style. I have to admit, it’s depressing how conformist I am for my particular minority – I always thought I was special for wearing my green 1920s newspaper boy hat and suspenders, but now I realize that’s apparently actually a thing that other people do. God.
I’m so tired. You can tell I’m tired when I rant about this stuff. It’s always the same with me; be tired and anxious, sit on a counter in a hotel bathroom, ramble about transgender people stealing my style. Bleh. Stop it, me.
Look, I’m proving to you that I really am sitting in a hotel bathroom. There’s my face, and behind it a little tray of girly hotel toiletries. You’ve got your “bio 2 Swiss formula shampoo”, your shower cap, your packet of Q-tips – and that tap! No household tap is that fancy.
So, I’m sort of wondering if this was a good idea, after all – I mean, going to the hotel. I’ve had a lot of fun with my sister, even though she can be a pain sometimes, and though my dad was grumpy earlier he finally got better towards the end of the day; we went to a restaurant for supper and I gorged myself on chicken quesadillas. No, spell check, I really didn’t mean “quadrilles.” I have the appetite of a fourteen year old boy, people have always told me; which is an odd sort of compliment. I also walk like an awkward teenage boy, to quote my mom, and I hear I talk like Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. Because I’m always complaining about things. That is also a quote courtesy of my mom.
Anyways. I want to sleep, but I don’t see how that’s possible with my dad and my sister sounding like Darth Vaders on the other side of the bathroom wall. It’s not their fault, obviously, and it’s my fault that I’m oversensitive about it – but I would have preferred that a thing like this go smoothly for once. I don’t like hotels in the first place, because they’re all weird and unfamiliar and smell strange – the only thing I ask for in a hotel room is silence. Nice, happy silence. I was blaring some new songs I downloaded for a few hours, and after that I did my under-the-covers documentary-watching – I wish I hadn’t killed the battery. I’ve got some good stuff on my iPod, and an interesting song I discovered from this rapper guy, Mac Miller – it’s called The Star Room and I really like it. If only it hadn’t been permeated by snores.
So, I don’t know what to do now. Sit on the counter, write stories on my laptop, maybe, until dawn breaks over the bleak, cold suburban horizon – or maybe I’ll eventually, when I’m exhausted, go back to bed and see if I can sleep. I don’t know, really. I wanted to do a blog to feel less alone, and less anxious about the situation; one of my constant fears is that of not being able to sleep, and tonight that looks possible, if not probable. If anyone’s out there reading this – well, hi. My last post got liked by three spam bots advertising a weight loss program for women, God only knows how that found its way to my blog (note to spam bots: the tag “female to male” HAS NOTHING TO DO with female stuff, in fact just the opposite, so send me some Viagra ads while you’re at it, at least that’s more topical, while remaining offensive), and so I’m kind of wishing for actual human readers this time around. If not, then it’s just as well; I don’t have many readers anyways. At least I got out my one-in-the-morning-hotel-bathroom-counter rant.
And now, good night. Wish me luck as I brave the snoring.